


A Most Substantial Man

by MollyWeisser11



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adult Hermione Granger, Belly Kink, Belly Rubs, Chubby Hermione, Chubby Kink, Chubby Severus, Chubby Severus Snape, Chubby Snape, Comfort Food, Eating, F/M, Fat Shaming, Fatwarts, Food Issues, Food Kink, Food Porn, Food Sex, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Gaining, Porkish Pixies, Professor Hermione Granger, Weight Gain, Weight Issues, fat admiration, fat!hermione, fat!snape
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-05-16 19:04:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19324228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MollyWeisser11/pseuds/MollyWeisser11
Summary: Ten years after the war, Severus Snape is delighted that Hermione Granger is returning to Hogwarts to teach. But Severus in particular struggles with his serious body issues: he's tipping the scales at almost 500 pounds, and it colors a lot of his life, for good and for ill. And chubby Hermione has significant emotional challenges, including emerging alcoholism. Will they be able to bridge their many challenges in order to create the greatest love story they've ever known?Though conceptually similar to my other HG/SS fic, Growing, this fic has less angst and more focus. Characters are a little different flavors in this fic too: Severus in this story is much more Aspie and Mr. Darcyesque and Hermione is basically a Leslie Knope type.Post-DH, EWE. FAT KINK - GLUTTONY KINK - FEEDERISM / FEEDING KINK. SSBHM (super size big handsome man).





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Rise and Fall of Two Bulky Geniuses](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/492361) by Alex the Anachronistic. 



> it's dumb, it's dumb, i just wanted to re-write an old old fat!warts story from elsewhere on the internet with a fresh taste. 
> 
> one-shot, not long-shot. I just love the falling in love type scenario and it makes me happy to write it so fuck off lol. 
> 
> re-imagining /re-writing of "The Rise and Fall of Two Bulky Geniuses" by Alex the Anachronistic. Original author's permission granted. https://www.fanfiction.net/s/3907069/1/The-Rise-and-Fall-of-Two-Bulky-Geniuses 
> 
>  
> 
> also this is EWE and also a Severus Snape Survives story.

  
  


Severus closed his eyes and counted to ten, trying to stave off the impulse. 

 

But something about twenty years a spy made it that he couldn't quite keep his goddamn mouth shut anymore. 

 

_ (In more way than one.) _

 

"Miss Granger?" 

 

It wasn't really a question, because he knew it was her. 

 

There wasn't a lot of staff turnover at Hogwarts anymore, especially now that Defence Against the Dark Arts had been converted to Practical Defensive Magicks. And despite the distance he kept from his colleagues, he was familiar with the face of every human in the castle. In addition, he already knew (because he was on the hiring committee) that Hermione Granger had returned to teach, ten years after her graduation. So even though the figure ahead of him was... quite,  _ quite _ soft... there was no one else this new person could be. 

 

Besides, her distinctive bushy curls were the same as always. 

 

Hearing him, the plump, abundant thighs ahead of him pivoted with a start - and he met the hazel eyes of his former student. She wore glasses now; that was another change. And there was a muted, far-away look in her eyes, even when she turned to address him. 

 

“Ah, hullo,  _ professor _ ,” she spat with distaste and offence, and Severus mentally kicked himself. She certainly deserved the title of  _ professor  _ more than he did, since she’d gone on to a far higher level of education after Hogwarts. 

 

But, he tried to be smooth. Particularly since her large, heavenly breasts were visibly perky beneath her skin-tight cotton jumper. 

 

“It’s been awhile,” he observed with some satisfaction, trying to ignore the predatory hunger that was rushing to his nethers. “Welcome to joining our staff, at long last. Though I must say - you could  _ not _ have chosen a much more lucrative and rewarding career.” The sarcasm, he couldn’t help. If he was qualified to move out of Hogwarts in any way, he’d have done it long ago. But unfortunately, a master’s in potions and thirty years of pedagogical experience didn’t get a man very far these days… not when the Malfoys and their ilk ran the world outside of Hogwarts. 

 

“Hmph,” Hermione said, raising both eyebrows and staring him down.  It was a miracle how she was able to do that, when she couldn’t have been more than five feet two, in contrast to his full six and change. “I see the years have treated  _ you _ well,” she observed with what was either a reluctant compliment or a faintly-cloaked zing.

 

And it was true, either way. Severus was far too self-aware to play the fool whenever he met up with someone who he hadn’t seen in years. Time had, depending on your definition, either favored him with abundance or cursed him for his past sins. He preferred to think of it as the former, but in darker moments he felt the truth might be the latter. After all, gaining a good twenty-odd stone over the past decade had the perplexing effect of having both significant benefits and significant drawbacks. 

 

“As they have  _ you _ ,” he responded with a practiced, nonchalant grin, feeling his chin sink into his soft submental fullness. He still wore high collars that produced a vicarlike effect. While once upon a time, the collars were just to conceal scars from his father’s belt on his upper back and neck, now it also hid the evidence of Nagini’s ghastly attack. At this point, to maintain the effect, he now had to wear gentler fabrics that didn’t chafe. There was too much jostling of excess flesh. 

 

She remained recognizable, though she was much changed from the last time he’d seen her, recoiling in wide-eyed horror in the Shrieking Shack while he bled nearly to death. For, despite his reciprocal jest, Professor Granger was not reciprocal in size: she  _ much _ less rotund than him. Her belly, though soft and drooping past her hips, was more proportional to her frame, and it was complemented well by her wide shelf-like buttocks and heavy breasts. 

 

In contrast, despite his compact arse, he was literally as big around as he was tall, which he took perverse pride in declaring to any listeners willing to be astonished. 

 

So, her larger body wasn’t truly  _ exceptional  _ in its size. She was within what could conceivably be thought of as  _ normal _ fatness, the kind of fatness that while not negligible, was not remarkable. Whereas the sight of the obese Severus lumbering in one’s direction drew the eye with fascination and caught the breath with terror. 

 

While he was making mental calculations regarding their relative differences in size, Hermione, for her part, laughed at the quip a little too readily. It was clear that she also considered her weight a sore spot. There was no other reason to have mental supplies of self-deprecating humor, constantly at the ready.  

 

“Though never mind that,” Severus entreated, deciding that he rather  _ liked  _ her. Not that he knew that much about her aside from what she’d done as a student, what she’d put on her resume for the hiring committee’s review, and what he could see of her now. It was, forgive the pun, a  _ gut  _ feeling. “It’s still a week until term starts, and I’m  _ sick  _ of the milquetoast offerings at the Great Hall. How about we have dinner tonight, and catch up?” 

 

This took her genuinely by surprise. “I beg your pardon?” she asked, as if she couldn’t imagine his uttering a civil word to her. 

 

“Dinner, tonight. Hogsmeade. I take it you’re not deaf?” All of a sudden, he began to realize how his offer might be perceived. “Not in any untoward way, I should add. Just as colleagues.” 

 

“Is that all?” Of  _ course  _ she would beg the question. The girl always knew how to put him through his paces. 

 

“I mean,” Severus rumbled, trying to laugh off the obvious interest he knew he must be showing. It was doubly hilarious, in this moment, that he used to be a spy and master of inscrutability. His chubby face of the present made him  _ far  _ too easy to read. “I’m under no illusions that you might be interested in any other kind of invitation. I know I’ve grown about three times more hideous than I used to be.” 

 

“Hm, really?” Hermione asked, looking thoughtful. She scanned him up and down, as if she wasn’t entirely sure that she hated the sight of him. The tiny glimmer of hope in Severus’ heart suddenly blossomed into a flame. 

 

And then, she said, with such deceptive innocence: “I see no difference.” 

 

Knowing she had claimed victory in one fell swoop, she readjusted her book-bag on her shoulder and sauntered away, leaving Severus wounded and hating himself. 

 

……………… 

 

Severus was the type who became  _ obsessed _ with anything he couldn’t have. The first thirty-odd years of his life, he’d spent in abject petinance: slaving away at work, work, and more work; refusal of any kind of self-care including adequate food or sleep; denial of any possibility that he might benefit from a little love or kindness towards himself. 

 

Then, Nagini bit him and the world turned upside down. 

 

He’d survived the bite because he’d effectively vaccinated himself against the toxin. A few years before Voldemort’s defeat, Severus took great pains to obtain some droplets of venom from the snake, and he developed a compound that he could, with careful dosing, increase his tolerance for such an attack. This practice is known to us Muggles as mithridatism, and has been used throughout our history to avoid death by poisoning. In any case, it worked for Severus, as he expected it to do. 

 

What he  _ had not  _ counted on, though, was losing so much weight over the years as he’d titrated up his doses. It was an elementary error and entirely embarrassing for an experienced potions master like himself. The doses he took, small though they were, made him chronically sick with irritable bowels and severe nausea. As a result, his already poor appetite doubled, and he became gaunter than ever. But for whatever reason, Severus never thought to resize his doses according to his change in body weight. This meant that proportionally, the toxicity of his doses had a greater effect than expected. 

 

As a result, the healers said, he overtaxed his system - specifically (and oddly) his thyroid was the worst organic victim in his body. So after Nagini’s attack and his subsequent discontinuation of the toxin dosing regimen, he developed hypothyroidism. His metabolism was shot.

 

This - combined with a sense of massive relief at being alive, and a renewed eagerness to enjoy all the fine things life could offer - spurred Severus’s appetite to overcompensate. Thus began his weight’s upward trajectory: not with a whimper, but a bang. 

 

He gained over thirty pounds the two weeks he was recovering in the hospital. Sixty over the next month. A hundred by the end of the summer. At which point, he was feeling a weight that was pleasant and healthy, and only slightly pudgy. Everyone agreed he was looking quite robust and hearty, quite in the pink of health. McGonagall was very pleased to see him retake his post as potions master while he ceded the headmastership to her capable hands. 

 

But the problem was, he didn’t stop growing. Leading him to this point ten years later, where he had grown to the better part of a quarter-tonne, and he was sensitive about it. 

 

Not to mention, he was absolutely  _ mad  _ for food. 

 

……………… 

 

He went to dinner that night in Hogsmeade, petulant and irritable. Severus didn’t blame the younger professor one  _ bit  _ for that mean-spirited, petty comment. It was  _ he  _ who had been in the wrong, all those years ago, when he’d used those same words towards her, when she’d been hit by a curse that grew her front teeth. He hadn’t thought about that moment since it happened - there was far too much going on in his perpetually-persecuted mind at the time - but the moment she brought out those words! He remembered it like it was yesterday, and hung his head in shame. 

 

As he was seated at his favorite pub, in a quiet corner with a sturdy table and chair, he stirred his pint and thought bitterly about that former self of his. It wasn’t the first time he’d been caught unawares by the impact of some flippant arsehole comment he’d made. It was, however, the first time that it got in the way of his dick getting wet. Or, ahem, a prospective romantic interest? (Which very  _ idea  _ made him laugh.) 

 

He wasn’t a big fan of men who put on a show of bravado for the women they liked, the James Potters of the world. But the only other way he knew to court a woman was in the Malfoy way: with expensive but understated gifts. This meant that Severus had remained a perpetual loner long after his obsession with Lily Evans had faded to a painful memory, since he didn’t have the kind of money to invest in a woman. 

 

To be fair, there weren’t that many women in whom he actually  _ wanted  _ to invest, either. 

 

There was something atypical about Severus, where he could almost successfully persuade himself that he didn’t need love or companionship. He could spend days on end without talking to anyone. He never felt that small-talk or frivolous socializing bettered his day. He rarely looked around and thought that his life might be improved with having another living being nearby. 

Except! 

 

Now, as he bitterly contemplated his ale, he was reconsidering this whole life-schema. 

 

Truth be told, he’d been unconsciously questioning it for a while. He’d stopped attending weddings of students, whereas before he might attend if there were some interesting colleagues worth talking to, or if there was enough pressure from Minerva. He’d found his mother’s old wedding ring in storage and for some reason it was warming his sock drawer. He’d stopped in front of the Magical Menagerie’s window too many times, his eyes searching for a creature that might make his cold, empty flat a little cozier. He’d even been thinking about joining Poppy Pomfrey’s book club, though heaven knew what he’d find to  _ talk _ about with all those fat old lesbians. (Probably a  _ lot _ of things, he was scared to imagine!)  

 

Anyhow, as he was sitting there in the pub, wondering if he’d run out of time in his life to find that  _ thing  _ that made it all worth it...  he was delighted and surprised to see the older, stouter form of Hermione Granger marching in his direction. 

 

“I decided that  _ petty _ isn’t a good look for me,” she announced, huffing with her hurry, and she plopped herself down in the chair next to his. “I’m glad to find you in the second pub I’ve checked. I expect your invitation to dine is still open?” 

 

“Do I look busy?” Severus asked, trying to hide his astonishment. 

 

“I don’t really care if you do,” Hermione responded, and she waved down a waitress. “You’re the only adult in the castle with half a brain who doesn’t go to bed at eight o’clock sharp.” 

 

“So, you noticed that too?” he agreed, trying to hide a too-eager snicker. “What about Professor Longbottom?” 

 

“I said  _ half  _ a brain, not a  _ quarter _ ,” Hermione responded, rolling her eyes. “I adore him, but he doesn’t speak kvetch.” 

 

“Oh, well, in that case,” he said, and smirked as he heard her order two firewhiskeys on the rocks and the house special fry and chips. “That’s my native language.” 

 

Oh yes, he  _ did  _ like her. 

 

Especially when she added, “You won’t make me eat alone, Snape,” and offered no opportunity for him to counter. He’d already had dinner, but before the waitress could mention that fact, Severus grandly agreed that he’d have what Hermione was having. He was a bit full, since he always ordered a double portion. But in the company of a pretty woman, he was eager for something to do with his mouth, so he wouldn’t put his foot in it. 

 

It was already rare enough that, for some miraculous reason, a pretty and intelligent witch was sitting here chatting with him like it was the most natural thing to do. 

 

What a strange course of events. 

 

………….. 

 

“I’m just  _ sick  _ of it,” Hermione groaned, leaning back in her chair and stifling a hiccup. The brazen lack of shame she seemed to have? It made Severus’ mouth water with desire to kiss her, which was a very unusual experience for him. She’d cleaned her plate and vanquished her dessert too, and she was watching him pick at the  _ second  _ double-portion of fried fish he’d attempted this evening. All the chips were safely tucked away in his belly, and all that remained was the excessively-oily battered cod. 

 

“Believe me, I  _ do  _ understand,” Severus drawled, trying to avoid vocalizing the tight belch that was growing in his throat. 

 

“I just… what business is it of  _ theirs  _ what my private  _ fucking habits _ are?” Hermione went on. “I was a fucking  _ principal investigator _ , not a… nun. But anyway, that’s why I left the ministry at long last. After all I had done for them, they call me out for disciplinary action for fucking… fucking  _ nothing. _ ” 

 

“I do agree. Though I’m no lawyer, this all sounds legally dubious,” Severus acknowledged, and he pushed his plate slightly towards the center of the table. “I think you might well have a case for wrongful disciplinary action. Though if you hadn’t quit in advance of termination, you’d probably have a stronger case.” 

 

With an aggravated sigh, she leaned forward. “I know - but what was I supposed to  _ do?  _ I didn’t want to be working with those buggers anymore, anyway, with what they put me through. Was I just supposed to sit there and  _ take it  _ while they looked for reasons to fire me?” 

 

“I don’t know,” Severus said, looking down at the table thoughtfully. “But then again, I’m in no position to talk. I’ve had the same position for nearly thirty years, and too much of a coward to try and move on. Even when there wasn’t a  _ single _ colleague who liked me.” 

 

“Bollocks,” Hermione said, and looked at Severus with a lopsided smile. “You’re brilliant, and they’re fucking  _ lucky  _ to have you. Even if you are a pain in the arse.” She hesitated, and then turned on some wide, imploring eyes. “On a side note - are you done with your fish?” 

 

“It’s all yours,” he answered, and he hastily put a napkin to his mouth as the gas escaped of its own volition. “Clearly, I don’t need it.” 

 

“Hmph,” Hermione grunted in gratitude, spearing the fish and putting it on her plate in a swift movement. The girl knew her way around a steak knife, Severus noticed with a rather inappropriate burst of attraction. It made him very susceptible to her next wily comment. “I must say, Snape - you didn’t manage to put away as much as I’d expect from a man of your… dimensions.” 

 

“I have a disgusting confession,” Severus responded, staring as Hermione raised a curious eyebrow. “This is my second supper of the night.” 

 

“No!” Hermione exclaimed with a look of both fascination and revulsion. “I was  _ going _ to say that you eat like a  _ bird _ .” 

 

“Is that an insult to my masculinity, or my size?” Either way, he didn’t mind - he was feeling heady and hot with the microscopic attention to his appetite, and it made him feel like warm melted cheese inside. 

 

“Take it however you want,” Hermione answered, a sly grin on her face. “But what’s the occasion for the indulgence?” 

 

“A pretty woman giving me the time of night is an occasion, in my book,” Severus chuckled, resting a hand upon his over-taxed stomach and feeling its weight jostle beneath his fingers. 

 

Hermione outright guffawed. “Sounds like you need a new book.” 

 

The mischievous smile in her eyes was one that suggested, she might be willing to help him write it. For better or for worse. 

 

………….. 

 

They were both slightly tipsy as they strolled back to the castle - Severus less on alcohol and more on blooming infatuation. Hermione had drank a bit more than was best for her, and she cleaved tightly to his flabby arm. 

 

“What do you say,” Hermione said, sounding like she was proposing some adventure she expected him to reject. But her words trailed off as she seemed to get lost in the summer stars above them. She stopped, and he stopped, and they stared up into the night together, listening to each other breathing. Then, shaking her head, she went on, “What do you say to people who dislike you for superficial reasons?” 

 

This girl. Severus was too smitten; he adored her choice of words and the confidence with which she said them, tipsy or no. 

 

“You’re asking the wrong man, my dear,” his tongue rolled before he could stop himself from adding the informal address. “I’ve never been one to suffer fools gladly.” 

 

“I know,” Hermione said, and sighed. 

 

Sensing that she wanted to talk, Severus gestured to a bench on the path ahead of them. Granted, he always needed a sit-down on this walk anyway - lugging around his four-hundred-pound-and-change body didn’t happen without a great deal of accommodation. He was quietly grateful for the opportunity to recuse himself from standing without embarrassment. They walked to it and settled there, and to his surprise he felt her hand wandering down his arm. She didn’t touch his fingers or palm, but she did grasp his wrist and the top of his hand, in almost a clinical way. 

 

It was, actually, in a clinical way, he realized with a start. She was looking at her watch and taking his pulse. He tried to hide how labored his breathing was, and involuntarily sucked in his gut. 

 

“Not terrible,” she assessed after a moment. “Not great, either. But for your size, not terrible.” 

 

“Thanks,” he muttered, more humiliated than he could express in words. “Always reassuring to get a miniature health exam after a date. Works wonders on my self-esteem.” 

 

Her pause hit hard and cold. “Was this a date?” Hermione asked, looking at him with wide and surprised eyes. 

 

His face turned to stone then, and his heart prepared to ice over as well. 

 

Then her face broke, and she burst into giggles. “I  _ can’t  _ believe how gullible you are,” she practically squealed. “I didn’t mean that… I… I’m sorry, I’m drunk.” 

 

Of course, this didn’t actually answer the question, but Severus seemed to gauge that the answer was closer to a  _ yes  _ than a  _ no.  _

 

He’d take it. 

 

“Not drunk,” he responded, but with a sly, approving, grin, he added, “perhaps a bit punchy.” 

 

She seemed to try and respond, but was interrupted by an eruption of giggles. 

 

“Professor Granger,” Severus said carefully, not sure if they had passed the point where they could drop the formality. “To address your bigger question: I suppose the wise answer to people who dislike you for superficial reasons is to ignore them.” 

 

“Those  who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind," Hermione said with bated breath, staring up at the sky again. 

 

“Yes, I suppose so,” Severus responded, feeling suddenly very old and very heavy. He wondered if she was referencing something. 

 

A few quiet moments passed, and Severus closed his eyes to focus on his breathing. But something wasn’t right, and he recalibrated himself to the present to look at Hermione. 

 

He was shocked to see her face wet with tears. 

 

It really brought it home to him then, how much she must have had to drink. He’d seen female students get weepy like this, at the turn of a hat, as he escorted them to the hospital wing after intervening in their drunken loitering in the astronomy tower after curfew. This situation was unsettling for many reasons. It was a reminder that she was quite a lot younger than him, and had once been his student. It was a reminder that she was a woman, and he was a man, and that perhaps he was pushing the bounds of acceptability by sitting with her right now, out of doors, possibly on a date.  It was a reminder that it was  _ late _ , and it was a reminder that it was  _ dark _ , and it was a reminder that she might not even feel safe with him. Or, worse - that she did feel safe with him, too safe… like he was some kind of enuch because of his being so morbidly obese. 

 

It was a reminder that this woman was frail and sad, and it was a reminder that human emotions were a necessary component of relationships, and bloody  _ hell  _ it was a reminder that he  _ really _ wasn’t good at this. 

 

Also, it was a reminder that whatever this evening was, it was coming close to its natural end. 

 

“Let me get you home,” he suggested, trying his best to sound warm. “This walk gets very cold, very quickly.” 

 

“If you say so.” She seemed completely like a different person: that bright and sparkling confidence had faded away entirely, leaving behind a nervous, muted ghost of her former self. It was eerie, and Severus felt grossly ill-equipped to help. 

 

Particularly when he stood up, and she stood up, and she buried his head in his shoulder, and she whimpered:

 

“How the  _ fuck  _ have I ended up like this?” 

 

………….. 

 

Severus didn’t know how to answer, but he did escort her back to the castle as swiftly as he could. It was later than he expected, and by the time they got back to the staff entrance, the dew point had set in and they were both shivering. 

 

His flat was closest, and he bundled them both inside before he had a chance to think better of it. 

 

“Have a splash from the decanter,” he bade her as he looked frantically around for a couple of blankets. “I’ll get us some warm things.” 

 

“Trying to get me drunk, Snape?” Hermione joked, her good humor somewhat restored despite her chattering teeth. “Have it your way.”

 

He found a warm kettle and some not-too-dingy cups, and brought these and some digestives to the main room. Hermione had lit the fire and was bent before it, staring into the little flame with the undue fascination that comes with sleepiness. She sipped a three-finger glass of whiskey, but Severus didn’t remark on it. 

 

To be honest, he was realizing how this situation looked on the surface, and he was  _ terrified _ . He couldn’t ever remember having a woman in his rooms before, much less a  _ date _ . His eyes glanced over the dusty corners, the forgotten cobwebs, the piles of books and leftover tea tray from this afternoon… it felt like a mess, and he wished he’d had a chance to prepare the space for it. 

 

“It’s a nice fire,” he complimented, feeling stupid and low as he observed her. “Once you’re… warmed up...do you know your way back to your flat from here?” 

 

“I think so,” Hermione said, and turned to look at him with glassy eyes. “I mean, if you object to me staying the night, I can go now.” 

 

He felt his heart nearly stop. “You intend to… stay the night?” 

 

“Well, you know.” Hermione laughed, but it was somewhat forced. “You ate a second dinner for me. I expect that’s what you’re hoping for.” 

 

“I…” 

 

Too shocked to speak, he settled down into his easy-chair with a thump. 

 

“What… what I’m  _ hoping for  _ is none of your concern,” he said carefully, his breath tight and jagged. “What is it, Miss Granger, that  _ you  _ are hoping for?” 

 

The words settled heavily in the room between them, and Hermione appeared as startled as if she’d been smacked upside the head with a hardbound copy of  _ Hogwarts, a History _ . 

 

“I don’t know,” Hermione answered after some consideration, and she carefully put down the glass and buried her face in her hands. 

 

“Then instead of leaping into bed with a man you scarcely know,” Severus said, trying to sound as gentle as possible, but feeling the pangs of judgment emerge from his lips nonetheless, “let’s talk, and listen, and then I’ll take you down the hall to your chambers. There is no expectation, on my part, of anything in particular, other than a good conversation. That is the single best way to get the measure of a person.” 

 

“So that’s a no to sex?” Hermione asked, turning her face upwards and glaring at him with a ferocity he hadn’t expected. 

 

“What?” He stared at her in response, trying to gauge what on  _ earth  _ she was on about. “Isn’t that… better?” 

 

“Not when I’ve been fucking  _ dying of lonliness, _ it’s not!” 

 

The intensity of her statement made him feel like he’d been slapped across the face. 

 

“So,” Severus said, trying to ascertain the right course of action. “You would be insulted if I… did not bed you tonight?” 

 

Hermione glared at him, but realized there was some incongruity within her thoughts. “I… yes. All right, Snape? Never mind. It’s ruined now. I… just forget it.” 

 

She looked miserable, her face filled with shadows of rejection and pain, and she rose to her feet. “Ciao,” she said, throwing the blanket on the chair and making towards the door. 

 

Severus hadn’t leaped up so fast from his chair in years. Before Hermione could escape, he pressed her with full force against the wall, almost hard enough to make her head hit. He trapped her on both sides with his arms, and he leaned his face towards hers. 

 

“Granger,” he rumbled, like someone stirring purple coals, “I want to make one thing  _ intensely  _ clear.” 

 

Her face, in its surprise, was bright and sincere, and her breathing was just as shallow and heaving as his. 

 

“I want you to know,” Severus said with fierce purposefulness, “that I have  _ never _ ,  _ ever  _ wanted to ravish a woman more than I have wanted to ravish you tonight.” 

 

This seemed to amuse her, and she giggled at the sight. 

 

“The only thing stopping me,” Severus breathed, leaning into her ear and whispering with fine, arching tones, “is that you’re a bit  _ too  _ drunk for me to take seriously. After all,” he went on, and stood back with firm, immovable certainty. “I remain puzzled. Why would the brightest witch of your generation want anything to do with this washed-up sad sack of a man?” 

 

The response was one he wasn’t expecting. 

 

“You… you think I’m  _ bright _ ?” 

 

Which question, unfortunately, validated all of his fears and confirmed  _ precisely  _ why he couldn’t  _ possibly  _ ravish the beautiful but forlorn Professor Granger. 

 

………….. 


	2. Chapter 2

Instead of trying to answer that question, he bundled the young woman up and got her to her flat. Once she was inside, he bid her a quiet ‘good night,’ and returned to his own rooms. 

 

Or at least, he tried to. But Granger’s ancient kneazle, Crookshanks, took it upon himself to leap at Snape as Hermione was closing the door. 

 

It wasn’t completely an unfair assumption of the kneazle, to think that Severus had caused the young woman’s distress. But the force and velocity of the flying catlike creature knocked Severus flat. 

 

She burst out laughing as Severus landed with great indignity upon his bottom. 

 

“I… I’m sorry,” she gasped, and she shook a helpless finger at the kneazle. “Naughty Crooks. That was very naughty.” 

 

The kneazle, with the utmost self-righteous huff, stalked back into Granger’s rooms, pleased at what it had accomplished. 

 

Now to any ordinary person, being knocked down and out like this was a mere inconvenience and anecdote for years to come. But for the top-heavy Severus, it was simultaneously more inconvenient and less remarkable. He found himself on the ground probably once or twice a month, but it didn’t mean getting up was any easier for all that practice. 

 

He looked up at Hermione with the stern lecturer’s eyes of old, daring her to laugh more at his expense. 

 

It was a saving grace to his dignity that she understood so instinctively. “Let me help you,” she offered with a graciousness befitting a Malfoy, and extended both her pudgy hands to him. With a practiced tug, Severus was able to get himself back on his feet, and he brushed off his posterior in silence. He tried not to remember the less simple, rather traumatic operations he’d had to endure in the past to resolve the same issue. 

 

“You’d… better wash your face,” Hermione added once he was upright once more, and she extended an arm to invite him inside. “Loo’s on the left.” 

 

It was only then that he felt the pinprick of pain from a scratch on his face. Grumblingly, he teetered inside the flat, shaking his head back and forth to regain his balance. 

 

Once he’d washed his face and examined the scratch - it was minor and barely bleeding - he noticed the state of the bathroom was… for lack of a better word,  _ horrendous _ . Splotches of something sticky splattered across the mirror, the sink was full of loose curly hairs, and a litter box stunk up the space rather badly. There were  _ candy wrappers _ on the floor surrounding the toilet on all sides, which made him shudder, and the waste bin was overflowing with lady’s hygiene items, which made him shudder even  _ more  _ because he could see Professor Granger was a heavy bleeder. 

 

His revulsion must have shown on his face, because as he walked out of the bathroom, Granger’s face fell with embarrassment. 

 

“Uh, pardon the mess,” the young woman said, and tried not to make eye contact. “I don’t use the house-elves for… ethical reasons.”

 

Severus pursed his lips and noticed there was basically no clear spaces to sit in the living room. All of the surfaces were covered in cardboard boxes full of books and papers, upon all of which was a fine layer of dust. His feet ached twice as much, instantly, and he sneezed. 

 

“I… see that,” he answered, surveying the mess with undisguised disgust. “When did you move in, if I may ask?” 

 

“A month ago, about,” she confessed, looking like a mouse caught outside its bolt-hole. “I know, it’s awful.” 

 

Severus did his best to dismiss his unpleasant feelings from his face. “I say. Do you have a place where I could sit a moment?” 

 

She lit up, happy to make some kind of gesture of apology. “Of course. The bed is always clear.” Then, realizing how that sounded, she added with a wink, “And while that was _not_ intended to be an invitation, Professor, you can take it however you like.” 

 

Having already made it clear that he was not inclined in that direction this evening, Severus responded with a furrowed brow. But he needed to rest his fat arse, so after her he went. 

 

Happily, there was a sturdy easy-chair in the bedroom, strewn with clothes. Before Hermione collapsed onto her messy ink-stained bed, she threw the garments onto her vanity. 

 

“So, I’m still too drunk to bed?” she practically whined as Severus eased himself into a sitting position. “You’re  _ no  _ fun.” 

 

“I won’t be a moment,” Severus said, trying not to appear as relieved as he felt. “Then I’ll leave you to your sleep.” 

 

“I’m sorry for being such a mushy mess tonight,” Hermione said, drawing the blankets over her lap and snuggling into Crookshanks as the kneazle mewed for attention. “Great first impressions of Adult Hermione, hm?” 

 

“It’s hardly your first impression,” Severus drawled, leaning back and sighing into the comfortable chair. It was one of those that magically adjusted to whatever the sitter preferred in terms of support, and  _ oh  _ he’d been putting off getting one of these for years and was regretting it now. It was the most luxurious seating experience his large body had enjoyed in a while. “Your achievements in the ministry, despite all your challenges, were astounding, Granger. Myself and others watched your career from afar with pride and envy, respectively.” 

 

“I mean, I  _ know  _ I was in the public eye a great deal,” Hermione said, leaning back against her headboard and closing her eyes. She looked quite at peace, even though half the bed was covered in books and pens and parchments and things. “I just never really thought about who might be watching.” 

 

She sighed. “It was a bit like trying to walk a tightrope. If I bothered to think too much about what was looking up at me from below, I’d lose my balance.” 

 

“How do you feel about retreating from that life?” Severus asked, feeling simultaneously curious but also uncomfortable in the amount of power he had in this conversation. It felt like he was more a father confessor than a prospective lover, and it didn’t feel right to him, but he didn’t know how to change things. 

 

“Extremely relieved,” Hermione said, and she opened her eyes to look at Severus. That sensation of being a priest was swiftly disassembled by the smutty way she was looking at him. “I can do what I like, now, without fear of it getting back to the bureaucrats in charge of my program’s money. Also, now I can do  _ who _ I like, now, too.” 

 

Severus smiled thinly. “It sounds as if you’ve had an adventurous career in  _ many  _ ways.” 

 

Her face remained unruffled, but she closed her eyes again. It was somewhat comforting, that she wasn’t intent on staring straight at him at all times. It also spoke to her sleepiness, he thought. “I mean, not as much as I thought it would be. You don’t get this podgy from a life of high-powered all-night sexual marathons.” She paused. “Or is it that my podginess prevented me from being invited to such?” 

 

This elicited a dark chuckle from Severus, the clear winner in the room of any podge-owning contest, and Hermione opened her eyes in a flash. “Sorry. That might have been insensitive.” 

 

“No matter.” He was more amused than offended, and gazed at her with a thoughtful glint in his eye. “I’m used to hearing people waffle on about their own troubles while patently ignoring the elephant in the room.” 

 

“That’s rather unfair to you, though,” she returned, gazing back at him with a disarming amount of compassion. He was taken aback and tried not to blush. It wasn’t every day that someone was concerned with what was  _ fair  _ towards Severus Snape. 

 

“It’s kind of you to think of that,” he said with measured tones, “but really, do not trouble yourself. I’m more than used to it.” 

 

“In fact, you probably  _ expect  _ it,” Hermione added, and he was reminded of the days when she’d pursued significant advocacy efforts on the part of the unwitting house-elves. There was that steely tone in her voice that made him somewhat terrified. 

 

“Let’s… discuss other matters,” Severus asked, trying not to beg. “It’s already a delicate subject.” 

 

“Hmph. Severus Snape,  _ delicate _ .” The hilarity was evident in her voice, and he begrudgingly agreed with her ironic twist of his words. “Leave it to you, to remain inscrutable and stoic, while I proceed to fall apart all over you on our first night out together. I appreciate your allowing me some egocentricity, but  _ believe  _ me, I’m dying to know more about what makes my old professor  _ tick _ .”

 

_ Damn _ . He could squeeze his way out of this, maybe, but it wouldn’t be as graceful as succumbing to the siren-song of her supposed interest. 

 

“Fine,” he spat, ready to take her to the mat, but there was an element of sportingness in his approach. There was a little twist of her smile, too, and a fierce level in her eyes. She was right -  _ kvetch  _ was their shared language, and rightly so. The world hadn’t dealt out a great many handouts to either of them. 

 

So, he took a breath, and without thinking too hard, he spoke: “I  _ do  _ expect it, Granger. I expect it because I know better than to imagine that my feelings on the subject matter. And it’s not a delicate subject because I’m vain - I swear I couldn’t care  _ less _ about what I look like. What makes it so  _ uncomfortable  _ is the way that it puts me in a different class of people.” 

 

Perhaps it was foolish to bother with explaining himself like this, but his best judgment was clouded by the warmth and interest that emanated from behind her spectacles.

 

“I can understand that,” she echoed, appearing thoughtful. “I would  _ hate  _ that.”

 

“And I  _ do _ ,” he responded, feeling like he was shedding excess skin like a snake. “It’s so difficult when I’m no longer seen as just a  _ person _ . I always felt different from the rest of the world - I was always the ugliest, the weakest, the pouf. And all my life, I felt like my identity was the triangular peg in the square hole: never good enough to amount to a full measure of a man. ” 

 

It was a difficult admission to make, one he’d never articulated even to himself before. 

 

_ Now  _ who was getting  _ confessional? _

 

Then his tone grew darker, and the rage developed into a deeper misanthropic loathing. “Before, I could find my corner and just  _ be _ , because at least I was small enough that I could share the space. I had personhood, even though it was less than most persons. People were uneasy about me before for many reasons: I grew up on the wrong side of the tracks, I had a terrible cruel streak and volatile temper, and I appeared desperate in every sense. But while I was deficient, I was also fixable.” 

 

The misery blossomed now, and his throat got tight. “But now I’m a round peg that doesn’t even  _ fit  _ in the square hole. People distance themselves from me, but not for the same reasons they did before. Whereas before I was broken and failing to thrive, now I am a monster who consumes beyond his fair share. I am an entity that has grown beyond human proportions. Neutered, powerless, stuck, and pitiable, though also deserving of intense hatred because  _ obviously  _ my existence in this state is testament to how little I care for anything aside from my own sensual gratification.” 

 

He closed his eyes, feeling awash with emotional pain. “So yes, Granger. It  _ is  _ unfair. I’ve only ever glimpsed what it felt like to be a normal human being, my whole life. So of course I hate it. My size is now an additional barrier to being recognized as anything of societal or moral value: useful, effective, talented, a terribly hard worker. It becomes the alpha and the omega, my  _ raison d’etre  _ and the definition of my being. People assume my will is weak, my head is muddled, and my desires end at making it to my next meal. I am not just a  _ man  _ anymore, but a stupendously  _ fat  _ man, and that must always be taken into consideration whenever I’m looking at improving my life or even just participating in a conversation.” 

 

The words were pouring out now, faster than he could stop them. It was almost terrifying, except that the young woman seemed to be a receptive vessel for all these newly-unearthed feelings. 

 

“I can’t tell you how many times people have gotten themselves excessively interested in my personal business,” he went on, desperate to be heard, “because they are hopeful that with the right amount of poking and prodding, I would shed some weight and come a little closer towards fitting into their world view. I hate how much people feel entitled to  _ thinking  _ about me and my size, as though it were up for public debate.”

 

This rant had escalated faster than he ever expected. If he’d known how vulnerable he’d become under her steady eye, he wouldn’t have dared speak at all. 

 

Or would he have?

 

“I hate when people look at me and obviously wonder,  _ what happened to him? _ ” he said, staring deeply back at her, daring her to flinch first.  __ I hate it when people tread on their own toes because they said something about their latest diet, and they just remembered who they were talking to. I hate it when people stop talking because I entered the room, like somehow by virtue of my size, I have sucked out all the clean air. I hate not being able to find clothes that fit… the perpetual risk of breaking an untested chair…” The lump in his throat was fuller now, and he felt like he was on that tightrope, staring straight down and seeing her gazing right back up at him.  “...And I  _ hate  _ having waitstaff look at me with  _ any  _ kind of reaction when I eat out.” 

 

Hermione looked somewhat bemused, but nonplussed. None of the things she’d heard made her surprised, it seemed, and that was a relief on its own. 

 

“How was the waitress tonight?” was her only question, and Severus felt his ears burn in shame. 

 

“I tried not to notice,” he responded, feeling acutely heard, but also terrified of what that meant. “I can’t imagine what she thought.” 

 

What was he  _ doing  _ here, talking to this charming young woman. What kind of person heard such private musings and remained unflappable? At least when he was skin and bone, he had the whole dark and mysterious cadaverous gothic look working for him. He could somewhat understand a desperate woman’s interest in him from that standpoint. Now? He wasn’t even sure that  _ he  _ would date someone his own size. And he was as desperate as they came. 

 

“I’m sorry I put you in that kind of position,” Hermione said, and her voice was soft and comforting. She patted Crookshank’s rump firmly, and the kneazle leapt off the bed in an annoyed fashion. Then she pushed some of the mess from the side of the bed further down towards her feet. “Are you  _ sure  _ I can’t make it up to you, in  _ some _ way?” 

 

The temptation was  _ maddening _ . There she was, a woman with beautiful bosoms, a sweet face, and a quirky twisted attitude about life that made Severus feel incredibly seen. This was no angelic Lily Evans, no golden glorious gleaming pristine goddess. No sir! This was a  _ sadder but wiser girl _ , as that old song he couldn’t place went. 

 

And moreover, she wasn’t utterly  _ repulsed  _ by the sight of his great shame. Indeed, contrary to his expectations, she seemed  _ quite  _ eager to see him in his birthday suit, which concept scared the hell out of him. 

 

It was with great reluctance that he muttered, with masterful deadpan stoicism, while standing up and moving to the door, “Sorry, Granger - it seems there’s only room for two pussies in your bed tonight.” 

 

He wasn’t prepared for the book chucked at his head, but when he spun around, the young woman was grinning in a devilish, delicious way. 

 

“Don’t you fucking  _ dare  _ disappear on me, you old death-eater!” Granger demanded, but he had already closed her chamber door and was headed to his own rooms. 

 

“Too late, too late,” he told himself as he practically bounced out to the hallway. 

 

It had been a  _ long _ time since his heart had been so light. 

 

_ ……………….. _

 

The night they’d shared was so eventful and enervating that he’d never wanted it to end. But when Severus woke up the next morning, all he could feel was dread. 

 

Somehow he was supposed to remain  _ collegial  _ with this woman. 

 

How in heaven’s name was he supposed to do so, after a night like that? 

 

He proceeded to do what he did best these days: he made himself scarce. House-elves meant he didn’t  _ need  _ to attend meals at the Great Hall unless he wanted to bend Minerva’s ear. The duties he had ahead of term starting were already long accomplished. So all he had to do was what he enjoyed most about life: to sit in his flat reading and writing, and to enjoy copious amounts of tea and cakes.

 

And it worked, mostly. It was the day before term started when she finally got wise to his tricks, and banged on the door of his flat with vengeance.

 

“Are you  _ quite  _ mad?” Hermione asked as he opened up to her pounding fist. “I thought you were having a  _ lovely  _ time with me.” 

 

“I was,” Severus said with good humor, brushing crumbs off his shirt, “and now it is over. Pray leave me alone, Granger, and find some other poor sod to throw books at.” Despite his words, he was rather pleased to see her, and to get the whole messy business resolved. While minutes ago he had told himself he never wanted to see or hear from her again, now the sight of her rendered all those assumptions invalid. 

 

“You aren’t  _ serious,”  _ she demanded, and she barged her way into his living room. “You were having the time of your life. I could see it.” 

 

“Thank you for the memories,” he answered, throwing up his hands in the air. He knew his protests were useless against her pulsing vortex of passion - though to be fair, his protests were far from serious. “I would like to have some peace and quiet now, if you don’t mind.” 

 

“No.” 

 

He was delighted by her tenacity, though also somewhat irked by her brute-force approach. He settled onto his most comfortable chair and stared at her grumpily. 

 

“I’m  _ not  _ going to let you take back that closeness we shared, without so much as a good reason,” Hermione insisted, looking as keen as a dog with a very scrumptious bone. “Give me  _ one  _ good reason and I’ll let you be.” 

 

“Fine,” Severus answered, though he already knew he was a goner. “I don’t like you.” He tried to keep a straight face, but she saw right through him, as he knew she would. 

 

“Lies,” Hermione bit out, “if you didn’t like me, you wouldn’t have asked me to dinner in the first place.” 

 

“So what,” Severus returned, enjoying the repartee, “I might have liked you then, but I certainly don’t like you  _ now _ .” 

 

“But you’re a Slytherin,” the woman answered, “If you  _ really  _ disliked me, you wouldn’t be telling me that you  _ don’t  _ like me. So your reason is invalid,” she said with triumph, “since it is made in bad faith.” 

 

“Curses.” He raised an eyebrow at her, trying to hide a smirk. “Then my reason is, I find you grossly  _ annoying _ .” 

 

“Paging doctor Kettle,” responded Hermione with an outright grin. She dropped her bookbag on the floor, flopped onto the divan, and gazed up at him with penetrating eyes. “If you think I’m  _ annoying,  _ then I think you’re  _ infuriating. _ ” 

 

“Heavens.” He thought some more. “What if I said that the reason I didn’t call was that I was too much a coward to let you down easily?” 

 

She stared at him with vicious eyes. “Then I would say that you’re lying to yourself about your real intentions.” 

 

With a sense of determination, she stood up and approached him, sliding her glasses down her nose to better look at him directly. 

 

It was a come-hither look that worked far too well for Severus, and he felt his need springing to life beneath his tum. 

 

“Am I too drunk for you today?” she asked, hunger in her eyes. 

 

It was  _ too  _ painful. She was slipping off her cardigan, revealing creamy soft shoulders, tempting sponge-cake-like underarms, the tops of her well-molded breasts, and a gentle, delectable double chin. 

 

He swallowed, trying to keep all his bodily systems in check. 

 

“No,” he answered, too struck by the vision to lie. 

 

“Then what,” Hermione asked, approaching with a knowing smirk on her face, “is stopping you from ravishing me, right now?” 

 

She shook gently with each firm step towards him. He’d never realized how  _ appealing  _ flesh could look on another human being. His fingers ached to touch her all over - to seize her by the waist and wrap her limbs around him, to touch her dark and meaty parts to make her sing his name. 

 

Too strangely, she seemed to have the same desire reflected deep in her eyes. She approached him and was wrapping one tender hand around the back of his neck, the rest of her body circling him like a tiger ready to pounce. 

 

“I…” he rasped, and despite his melting heart and thrumming loins, he short-circuited his opportunity to get laid.  “I… am a bit old-fashioned?” 

 

This note of seriousness, of confessionality, it paused Hermione Granger right in her tracks. 

 

“What does that mean?” she asked, more curious than furious. 

 

Thank heavens for small mercies. 

 

“I just... I’m not good at this,” he proclaimed, feeling tremendously ill at ease. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I’ve never courted a lady before.” 

 

The deeper implication made her jaw drop, and she was beaming ear to ear. “You’re a  _ virgin _ ,” she practically crowed, taking a step back. “How old are you again? Fifty?” 

 

“Forty-eight,” he acknowledged, not willing to meet her eye. 

 

“Oh dear god. Of  _ course _ ,” she thrilled, looking for all the world as though this was a life-changing revelation. "It all makes sense now. I had  _ no _ idea, I assure you,” she went on, and Severus smiled awkwardly at her rapt expression. “I  _ never _ imagined. All right then,” she decided, beaming, “I can understand why you would want to take things slow. Of course you do. And you deserve to have it be a really  _ romantic  _ night, too. Rose petals and soft music and all that.” 

 

“I wouldn’t say that’s  _ necessarily  _ what I meant…” Severus said, rolling his eyes, but Granger had already taken the reins. 

 

“Perhaps not,” Granger went on, but she had a gay spirit in her eyes. “But indulge me, please? My first time was a hurried shag against the wall of a bathroom stall with a boy I stopped liking the moment I saw how small his Slavic cock was.” 

 

Severus didn’t know who she was referring to, but he imagined it probably had something to do with a boy from Durmstrang during the Tri-Wizard Cup. Though he never liked to think too much about the sexual exploits of students more than he had to. 

 

Hermione kept detailing her vision. “I have always dreamed of taking a man’s virginity and making it the most decadent,  _ wonderful _ experience.” She smiled with a genuine kindness, causing her chubby cheeks to dimple in an incredibly inviting manner. “What sorts of things do you fancy romantic?” 

 

“Erm…” He couldn’t believe he was having this conversation, and his ears were burning up. “Aside from the obvious?” 

 

She cackled at that. “You’re going to have to use your  _ words _ , little boy.” 

 

It made him even  _ pinker  _ to be called a ‘little boy.’ Did this mean he liked being  _ topped _ by this strong-willed Valyarkie? What an insult to his masculinity. (What shreds of it he had.) 

 

“What do you consider  _ obvious?”  _ she taunted him, and under the gaze of her raised brow and seductive smile, all he wanted to do was squirm away to the bathroom and rub one out.  

 

“Erm, breasts,” he practically squeaked out, feeling his whole body dissolve into mush. “And... arse.” 

 

“And  _ how  _ do you like them?” she purred, leaning forward and putting one podgy finger underneath his soft jaw so she could tilt his head to look at her. 

 

“Big,” he announced with a  _ very  _ small and insecure voice. Then he realized, he wasn’t really addressing the question of what he found  _ romantic,  _ merely  _ erotic _ , so he added with trepidation, “Also, velvet and lace.” 

 

She looked  _ so  _ pleased with him that he tried to elaborate more. “Rose petals… that’s nice too. And if I may be so bold...it’s always been a fantasy of mine to learn to undo a corset with my teeth.” The words sounded so paltry and  _ dumb  _ when he said them aloud, and they didn’t do justice to the envisioned experience whatsoever. 

 

“I  _ see _ ,” Granger said, looking thoughtful and puckish. “I can work with that. You have a real gothic streak to you, Snape. I like it.” 

 

“Oh,” he answered, feeling weak-kneed at the thought that maybe she might make this happen. The night of his most optimistic dreams - just like that! “Excellent.” 

 

Then, deciding he couldn’t take anything more, he begged, “Would you excuse me a moment?” 

 

“Of course,” she answered, knowing  _ exactly  _ what kind of impact this conversation must have been having on him. “Take your time. Just call if you decide you need me.” 

 

It was with frantic impatience that he raced to the loo, his heart beating like a hummingbird’s wings. The sight of himself in the mirror was truly depressing - sweat on his brow, the prickles of six-o’clock shadow on his lip and jaw, and  _ damn it to hell  _ there was even a zit on the side of his beakish nose. He washed his hands under painfully hot water, then splashed his face with arctic cold, and ran a comb through his fading, thinning hair. 

 

This did very little to improve his appearance, in his opinion, but there was little else he could do on such short notice. It was sufficient distraction to get his heart rate into less dangerous territory, at least, even if his cock was still tingling with arousal. 

 

He came back into the main room, feeling calmer and more level-headed. Hermione was sitting there on his sofa, looking as pleased as if he’d told her she’d been given a merit award for her hard work. It was difficult to believe that the sight of  _ him  _ was what made her feel so elated. 

 

“You poor dear,” she cooed, and she patted the ample space next to her on the sofa. “Just come and  _ sit  _ with me, would you? I won’t bite unless you agree to it, I promise.”   

 

Knowing that he was taking the first steps of his journey deep into the bowels of hell, Severus obeyed her request. As he settled down with an involuntary sigh, she swarmed him, pressing her thigh against his own and cleaving against his side like a demon sidling up to a susceptible young dreamer. Her hands remained prudently in her lap, against all expectations, and he couldn’t help but remember the way, a few nights ago, her fingers had felt crawling down his arm to hold his wrist. 

 

He  _ most assuredly  _ wanted them to go touch somewhere else, if he was honest with himself. 

 

“So, let’s take it  _ slow _ ,” Hermione said with a fiendish giggle. “And let’s just talk. You like talking, right?” 

 

“I do,” Severus responded, feeling like he was looking into the face of a trap but seeing no evidence of what kind it might be. 

 

“So, again,” Hermione started, and she leaned into his side with great casualness that took him by surprise. “I’m sorry again for falling apart the other day. It probably made you feel uncomfortable.” 

 

“Rather,” he agreed with a low, slow exhale. He was  _ deucedly  _ sensitive to the fact that her cheek was pressed right against his upper arm and he could feel every word she enunciated as she spoke. It was  _ hot _ . 

 

“I didn’t mean to get so loose-lipped,” she went on, and she mused, “I wouldn’t want you to think that I’m generally such a free-loving woman. Despite my bravado, I don’t get out much.” 

 

“I understand,” Severus answered, and reflected carefully, “I sensed it was somewhat part of a mask that you’ve felt a need to wear.” 

 

“ _ Exactly.  _ I am no less bookish and sensitive than you might remember me,” Hermione said, and he felt her breathing grow heavier. “I still cry in bathrooms sometimes. I just have developed a thicker skin. And also learned that having a good offense is the best defense, so to speak.” 

 

“I can see that.” To be honest, this revelation made Severus feel much more comfortable in her company. The waspish attitude she seemed to have embraced as an adult? It felt hollow. Severus knew a thing or two about cultivating a bark that was worse than his bite. 

 

“So, excuse me if I seem…” She broke off, not sure of her word. 

 

“Brash?” he suggested. 

 

She shrugged.“More like bitchy,” she answered, and she cackled as he grimaced. “It’s served me well in my time in the Ministry, but I want to reinvent myself now that I’m back at Hogwarts.” 

 

Severus frowned. “Why?” 

 

Then it was  _ her  _ turn to get serious. “Because I don’t want to be the kind of teacher  _ you  _ were, to me.” 

 

The disclosure made his heart sink, and his shoulders droop. But this was to be expected. He knew he was never at his best during her student life. 

 

“You deserved better,” he acknowledged, feeling legitimately sad. 

 

“I know I did,” Hermione said, sounding bright. “But so did you. Harry has told me things about you, Snape, that frankly boggle the imagination. I can’t imagine what kind of living hell you were in, forced to interact with the idiot offspring of your worst enemy and your lifelong love.” 

 

_ This  _ was a surprise. Not that he’d really expected Harry Blabbermouth Potter to keep his deepest secrets… but he was confounded by her compassion. 

 

“I still was a walking  _ nightmare _ of a teacher, I’m sure,” he responded, figuring the compassion should run both ways. 

 

“Oh, undoubtedly. You were  _ vicious _ ,” Hermione said with a charming bluntness. “But in retrospect, I understand. I imagine you were being pulled a thousand different ways by your various masters. I developed a lot of respect for you during my time in the Ministry. I committed just as egregious fouls with the pressure I was under. And with a lot less justification, too,” she added, and her eyes belied the depth of her appreciation. “ _ You _ actually had life-and-death matters on your mind.”  

 

“Well, thank you for noticing that,” he said. While the words might have sounded sarcastic on paper, the resonance of his voice was one of immense gratitude. 

 

He wondered how on  _ earth  _ she’d gotten to such a place the other night. Her ebullience was back in full force, but that image of her teary-eyed  _ do you really think I’m bright?  _ was emblazoned on his memory. 

 

“But it’s clear that I fucked you up rather well, irregardless,” Severus went on, feeling ashamed but charging forward anyway. 

 

“What, why do you say that?” Hermione asked, and the curiosity in her voice was genuine. 

 

“I mean,” Severus answered, “you did not seem too confident of yourself the other night. It seemed as if you were pining after my approval. Which is fairly meaningless, all things considered.”

 

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Look,” she said firmly, turning to face him. He tried not to avert his eyes. “It’s not  _ your  _ fault I was nursing a starry-eyed crush on you. It just happened.” 

 

The look on his face revealed more than he would have liked. Hermione laughed uproariously at his shock and disbelief. 

 

“Of  _ course  _ what you said mattered to me,” she went on, and patted his shoulder kindly. “You were my  _ teacher _ , and my  _ favorite  _ teacher for most of my years studying at Hogwarts, even when I hated your guts. You cared more than most of the others, and I could see that. And because of that, I believe you weren’t  _ quite _ so bad as you remember.” 

 

“I… thank you,” he grumbled, still feeling like a piece of shit. “I’ve done my best to temper my moods since. I do take my role as an educator very seriously, and I knew that I was burned out during the time you and Potter were under my tutulage. I really was just going through the motions, not deriving any pleasure out of it anymore.” 

 

“I don’t recall seeing that,” Hermione answered, and the smile she gave him was wholehearted and rosy. “I saw the struggle, but I also saw the enjoyment you got out of it. You walked us through practices that really  _ pushed  _ us, at great personal risk. I learned later that Slughorn never even had first-years doing applied potions, instead focusing on theory. But I know that I  _ really  _ internalized the lessons you taught, because we saw the results right in front of us.” 

 

“I’ve had to scale that back, since,” Severus supplied, “It was too ambitious a course, I decided. Losing my eyebrows to explosions got old once I turned forty.” 

 

“But you  _ tried _ , and that amounts to a lot,” Hermione reflected, and the sparkle of enthusiasm made him believe, just for a moment, that she was right. “So I give you credit for that.” 

 

“Still, I was not the best of examples to follow,” Severus reminded her, “and for that, I ask for your forgiveness.” 

 

“Yeah, you’re right.” She snuggled closer to him, and he realized that she’d sneaked one hand around his ample waist. Her hand had made itself a comfortable home among his rolls of flesh, and he was immediately self-conscious of how much each breath he took inflated the bulk of his stomach. He didn’t feel comfortable with the idea of her hand being poised to notice how much effort just  _ breathing  _ took. 

 

But strangely, she seemed appreciative of the massive man she embraced, and he scarcely dared to say anything to endanger that. 

 

“So, make it up to me,” Hermione beseeched, and she nestled her head in the crook of his neck. 

 

“How?” He closed his eyes, knowing in his heart what she was probably going to ask. 

 

But she didn’t say anything. Instead, she drew away from him, and stood up slowly. 

 

With some confusion, he opened his eyes again, just in time to see her plump lips primed and ready to touch his own. 

 

……………….

 

Her kiss was like buttercream on sweet cakes, melting his heart like white chocolate across a warmed baking sheet. She tasted delectable and hungry, with an urgency that made him catch his breath in surprise. 

 

Then, all too suddenly, it ended, and he opened his eyes with desperate and unabashed need. 

 

“Come back,” he whispered, feeling like the floodgates of desire had been opened, and Hermione laughed at the plaintive plea. 

 

“Of course,” she giggled, her chubby fingers running across his face with tender appreciation. “I just thought you wanted to take things  _ slow _ .” 

 

He didn’t know how to respond to that, other than to lunge forward and grasp her bottom lip with his own. “Maybe not,” he breathed once he’d tasted her again, and he felt his heart spiralling into an abyss of ecstacy. 

 

He couldn’t remember ever kissing anyone like this before. He wasn’t a complete romantic novice, in the sense that at one point he had actually kissed a girl or two. But this highly-charged, deeply emotional connection? It was entirely new to him, and he  _ loved  _ it. 

 

Her tender tongue was strong and responsive, and she sucked and coddled his lips so prettily. He couldn’t imagine anything nicer than letting his mouth roll into hers in a thousand different ways. 

 

It was ridiculous how magnified his heart felt at this moment of time. There was a significant weight in his chest that felt new and important, like a little seedling bursting out of the ground. He didn’t know the word for it, at first - until he remembered it. 

 

Joy. 

 

What a startling revelation, to notice that he had such power! As far as he could recall, there were few memories that inspired such a painful, liberating, all-encompassing feeling. 

  
Severus hadn’t even noticed his eyes watering until she drew back and dabbed at his face with her sleeve. “Are… are you all right?” she asked, sounding muted and worried. 

 

“Never…  _ never  _ better,” he intoned, taking her into his arms again. 

  
He didn’t  _ dare  _ think about when this was going to end. The present moment was far, far too precious for that. 


	3. Chapter 3

 

They stayed up all night, just kissing and talking and laughing. After a comfortable hour of snogging in the parlor, Hermione suggested they reconvene in the bedroom. It made Severus blush, just the idea of snuggling her where he wanked, but before he knew it that's where they were. The duvet lay discarded at the foot of the bed, since there was enough heat between the two of them for them. 

 

This was a night that Severus desperately hoped would never end. Every time he caught himself drifting, he would volunteer some refreshment in the form of caffeine - chocolate, coffee, tea. Hermione didn't take those, instead preferring splashes from his whiskey decanter. It surprised and rather alarmed him how much she tended to drink, though he kept that opinion to himself. It was probably just nerves.

 

Either way, their consumption fueled their conversation and carried them to greater confidence with each other. 

 

Severus talked about Lily Evans. Hermione talked about Ron Weasley, with whom she'd only broken up relatively recently once his mother got too naggy about the question of grandchildren. Severus talked about his dream of having a massive private herb and potions ingredient garden, cultivated with his own two hands. Hermione discussed her heartbreak over losing her pet canary in elementary school, before attending Hogwarts. Severus talked about how when he was first teaching, he was scared by how some of his students were just a few years younger than him,  and how many times he rehearsed his lessons and lectures aloud in his head before giving them, so that he could refine his speech and not make a mistake that would make him sound like an idiot. Hermione enumerated her fears that she would die alone with only a kneazle for company. 

 

As the morning light began to fade into sunshine, Severus felt his eyelids growing weary with a dismal finality. The woman in his arms... her mumblings were growing fainter and fainter every time he addressed her. Finally, he heard her begin to snore quietly, almost like a kitten purring. It was so sweet, and he could scarcely believe how adorable she was. 

 

 He couldn't stop helping himself to the soft, fruitlike flesh that settled around her middle. He touched it, and played with it, and marveled at how lovely it felt and looked on her plump body. She was beautiful in a way he'd never have guessed another human being could be, what with his own sense of self-hatred for his excessive adipose. 

 

The touches he granted himself were energizing and calming in the same instance, and he found himself gently grasping and relaxing both his hands around soft love-handles that encircled her hips. He truly did adore her, and he wondered what he might be getting into if he stayed and just fell asleep here, forfeiting total control over himself and his environment. 

 

It was clear, this girl was actually attracted to him in a way he never could have anticipated. But at the same time, he wondered if it was just some function of her broken self-image. Was the only reason she liked him and his body because she had endured so much heartbreak that she was willing to settle for whatever dastardly ugly motherfucker came into her life? Severus always had imagined himself to not be anything better than the antihero in the story of his life, and the idea that he might actually be *wanted* by someone took a great deal of courage to accept. Courage that he desperately lacked at the present time, but was beginning to want. 

 

He lay there with his eyes closed, breathing in deeply as he tried to stave away sleep. The idea of falling into slumber right then and there, next to this enchantress, was a beguiling thought, but he worried that once she awoke, something would change in her if he was still there. But since these were his rooms, he couldn't very easily leave her as he felt respect demanded. So instead of doing anything, he just tried to memorize every passing second with the painful grief of a faithful priest conscious of every lost soul. 

 

The darkness was heavy and cool, but soon enough there would be full sunshine across them both. Severus generally didn't mind it, since the sunshine was the perfect way to harness his motivation and get out of bed every morning. But he did feel so very tired right now, he wanted to keep the light to a minimum until absolutely necessary. 

 

So, he pulled the curtains closed with his wand, and tried to suck up every ounce of kindly touch he could get from this girl. He couldn't bear to imagine what would happen once the clock struck the time they needed to be up and about. 

 

...............

 

But finally and predictably the day was required to start. Severus shook himself out of bed with painful reluctance, looking at the sleeping woman with extreme fondness as he did so. The girl had a downturned lip that would have made Severus' mother envious, and she had dropped her glasses on the nightstand without even folding them. She was still wearing a thin jersey cotton dress that was grey in color, but it had no sleeves and the hem had crept up her thigh during their cuddles. The way she spilled out of her garment so prettily made him wish he were artistically inclined at all - she seemed a perfect pose for a renaissance painter. 

 

Not wanting to disturb her, he crept into the bathroom and disrobed. He was eager for a shower and freshen up, as he'd felt his breath going sour over the course of the night, and he also felt like he might have something to prove. Under the dim lights of evening, he might have looked acceptable last night despite the unannounced nature of her visit. But morning sunlight would not be so kind to his aging temples and weak, anemic constitution. So he did his best to scrub off the silt of the previous day and make himself at least somewhat presentable. 

 

He still kept his hair long, so he tied it back for once with a velvet ribbon from his black-tie getup. He didn't have nice-looking clothes that were not formal attire, which fact he rarely regretted except for this moment. But the subtle hint of elegance wouldn’t go amiss. 

 

The rest of his ensemble was simple dark charcoal linen of his preferred type: suspenders to keep his trousers up his saggy arse, and the same old long tunics he’d always preferred that went almost to his fingertips. He didn’t do so many buttons anymore, though; it would have been too embarrassing and time-consuming to put on his clothes with such pudgy fingers. It was the traditional potioneer’s garb, though few modern brewers cared to maintain such a strict and constrictive aesthetic these days. Granger certainly didn’t, and he knew that she brewed of occasion. He couldn’t help but smile at that knowledge: it was one of many private revelations she’d made to him over the course of the evening. 

 

And  _ what  _ an electric evening! Severus felt his heart tingle with excitement and trepidation as he reviewed fragments of their conversation. 

 

_ I’ve always fancied men of substance _ , was one of the things she’d said, running her finger across his lower jaw. Even the memory rushed through his body like a fast-traveling toxin, racing from his spine to the end of every shaking limb.  _ They provide such a…  _ tangible _ comfort.  _

 

_ I like your hair,  _ she’d also said, playing with loose strands with delicate fingers.  _ I’ve always been bloody envious of it. I figure you could go straight from sex to teaching without much more than a pass of a comb.  _ He’d blushed at this, wondering how  _ long  _ that particular image had been sitting in her brain. 

 

_ I really want to take things fast _ , she’d mentioned later,  _ and it’s absolutely murderous that you’re making me wait. Keeping that sexy body of yours out of reach.  _

 

This was  _ surely  _ impossible. It must be the haze of lust making her conceive of his body as being, in any way, sexy. He didn’t even blush at this - to be frank, it confused and enraged him. But he bit his tongue and did his best to pretend he was flattered. 

 

If  _ he  _ was honest, a large part of his hesitation to leap into proto-intercourse and intercourse behaviors with her? It came from these strange feelings. The faster and hotter she wanted him, the more he smelled the scent of a trap. He  _ knew  _ he wasn’t attractive. He  _ knew  _ there was something addling her mind, whether its nature was biological or magical. He  _ knew  _ there was some catch, and he’d be  _ damned  _ if he was willing to foolishly throw his good sense away. He’d seen far too many sexually-precocious students hurtle into the unknown, only to end up hurt, washed up, and broken. 

 

He was already broken enough without suffering whatever fate the likes of  _ Hermione Granger  _ had in store for him. 

  
  


...............

 

Hermione awoke when Severus brought in a tea-tray, clattering and smelling of strong coffee. 

 

“You’re up early,” she grumbled, her hand smashing around for her glasses on the nightstand. 

 

“You’re going to be late if you don’t hurry,” he responded, sweet but firm. He poured her mug full and stirred in sugar and cream according to her nods. “Now, eat up, and make haste.” 

 

“Thanks for being so kind,” she said, taking a bracing sip and pressing her hand against her temple. “Are you  _ sure  _ you wouldn’t be up for a bit of exercise before greeting our students for the year?” 

 

His smile was immovable but pleasant. “You really don’t look up for it, Granger.” 

 

“ _ Fine _ ,” she acknowledged with a sulky pout. “I know I look like shit. I feel like shit too. I was hoping for a distraction in the form of some lovely  _ mashing _ .” 

 

“What a treat,” Severus drawled, but he seated himself carefully on the edge of the bed. “in how you describe lovemaking with  _ such  _ poetry.” 

 

He nudged a small purple bottle towards her as well. “Also, you’d be wise to try some of that hangover cure.” 

 

She laughed at first, but then she winced at the maelstrom in her head. “Fine,” she said lowly. “Thanks. That’s awfully decent of you. I know they’re a pretty penny, for good ones.” 

 

“Not if you make them yourself,” he assured her, with some pride in his work. “You’ll see this brew in Diagon Alley selling for two hundred galleons apiece.” 

 

“Good gravy,” Hermione chirped, almost spitting it out, “I hope it’s mostly markup.”

 

“Almost entirely markup,” he agreed, watching her carefully. He still wasn’t sure about how or why this girl was even here in his bed, but there was a certain vulnerability she was showing at this moment. Perhaps it was a result of their irresponsible self-disclosures over the previous night. “The materials cost less than seven sickles.” 

 

Severus himself felt a need to button himself back up again after spilling his guts for her. Whereas she seemed practically  _ comfortable _ in front of him, despite her physical dysregulation. 

 

How strange. He continued to wait for the trick. 

 

Hermione seemed unbeguiling, though - she shoved down her beans on toast and coffee, then rustled herself out of bed and padded to the bathroom. 

 

“Oh now  _ this  _ is heavenly,” she announced as she looked around at his marble tile and the sturdy Prefect’s Bathroom sized bathtub that he’d had to get installed  _ specifically  _ to accommodate his large body. 

 

He was rather glad that, in his optimism, he’d got it so big. Even if this thing with Hermione was some kind of ghastly game, he was hopeful that he would be able to make good use of it before the jig was up. 

 

“One of the  _ very  _ few perks of having thirty years of tenure,” he explained, though honestly he’d spent mostly out of pocket for the renovation. Minerva, while willing to make allowances for him, was  _ not  _ sympathetic to his need to replace the old fixture -  an old-fashioned high-sided tub that he’d had trouble entering and exiting even for showers. 

 

“I thought my setup was nice,” Hermione acknowledged, stripping bare before he could look away. Her breasts were so heavy and sumptuous, it was painful to divert his gaze. He also caught a glimpse of her plump belly, and the way that her wobbly middle shook as she stepped into the tub. “Oh. Aren’t you joining me?” She was staring up at him, and she realized that he was already dressed. 

 

“Maybe next time,” he assured her, and he settled down on the velvet stool by the unused vanity. “I confess it isn’t pleasant to watch me wash my extensive...” He paused, embarrassed. “...surfaces.” 

 

“I’d enjoy it, I swear,” Hermione said with a smile, and then she ducked her head underneath the fizzing water. 

 

He tried to hold that image in his mind, of this beautiful witch naked underneath the bubbles in his bath. He chastized himself for having let her sleep so long - he would have  _ loved  _ to be in there with her. 

 

Severus glanced up at the clock, willing the time to go in reverse. It wasn’t as if he had any significant duties to prepare for, exactly, but then again he wasn’t sure that Hermione was as prepared as him. 

 

“Are you  _ sure _ ?” he heard her echo his thoughts, and he saw her slightly emerging from the bath with a brilliant smile. Her hair dripped down her back, much longer now that it wasn’t in tight curls, and splotches of suds clung to her curves. “I could use some assistance with my hair.” 

 

He found it  _ incredibly  _ hard to turn down such an invitation, but he also was entirely too uncomfortable with the idea of her seeing his gross body completely bare before her. So he shook his head in the answer of no, and crestfallen ( _ crestfallen?!)  _ she slipped back into the depths like a mermaid. 

 

As he saw her come up to take a breath again, then dive back underneath the water, he made a split-second decision. With great speed and determination, he ripped off his clothing and slipped into the water before she could come up again for breath. 

 

The water level adjusted according to his mass, of course, which she felt - but not before his most embarrassing parts were thoroughly covered in a thick layer of bubbles.  

 

She leapt out of the water at the motion, and giggled with delight at the sight of him there. 

 

“Don’t you  _ dare _ keep yourself hidden under all those suds,” she insisted, approaching with light in her eyes, but he just grinned and sat back, resting his arms on the side of the bath in a bold expression of self-indulgence and self-possessiveness that he really didn’t feel. 

 

“I do  _ dare, _ ” he parried, “but only out of a diligent desire to protect your sweet innocence.” 

 

She cackled. “Only Severus Snape would think I had  _ innocence. _ ”  She kept approaching him, and soon was running two tantalizing fingers up his soft shoulder. 

 

He shied away from her, a disapproving look in his eyes. “I told you,” he said firmly, “I’m  _ not  _ something you  _ want  _ to see. I recommend you look at me by reflection only - with a silver shield, like a gorgon.” 

 

“Please,” she ached, pulling herself close to him. Under the soapy water, her skin felt like silk. He loved and hated the sensation at once. “Let me at least  _ touch _ .” 

 

“Hmph.” While to some extent he hated the very idea, there was a non-zero part of him that was waiting with bated breath for this moment to arrive. 

 

He didn’t say anything else, so she looked at him with wide and almost hurt eyes, until he added, “Well, get on with it, then. Feel what you want to feel.” 

 

“ _ Everything?” _ The words curled out of her mouth with tender affection that made him  _ certain  _ this was a trap. 

 

“Damn it  _ all _ ,” he cursed, not meeting her gaze. “If I don’t like it, I’ll say so.” 

 

She looked like a first-year on their first visit to Honeyduke’s. “Hooray,” she whispered, almost like she was uttering an incantation, and then he began to feel her hands roaming across his fatty pecs. She hoisted them in her hands experimentally, like she was weighing them for science, and she squeezed and twiddled his nipples with her thumbs. A jolt of erotic energy shot through his body at the touch, and Hermione giggled at the sight of his strained face and aching eyes. 

 

Then with one hand continuing to appreciate his upper torso, her other hand began to meander lower. She felt the curvature of each little roll above his stupendous stomach, and then removed both hands to touch that large, extensive bodily structure. 

 

She had one hand on either side of his tum, and she wobbled it with unrepentant enjoyment. Severus felt so aroused he was almost nauseous, and he closed his eyes and began to whimper. 

 

What a strange turn of events, that she should even  _ pretend  _ to appreciate his body in this manner. 

 

With a strike of emotional pain, he raised a hand. His breathing was labored, and his head felt heavy with exhaustion. 

 

“Enough,” he pleaded, trying to get a hold of himself. “This is over.” 

 

And without another word, he sank beneath the water, trying to regulate his breaths. 

 

When he came up for air, after a good thirty seconds, he realized she was no longer in the bath. She was standing at the linen closet, dripping water and soap across the floor. She looked, for lack of a better word,  _ sad _ . 

 

“I’m sorry,” he said, feeling his throat tighten. “I didn’t mean that… that…” 

 

“Whatever,” she spat, not looking at him. “I  _ don’t  _ care for your excuses. Try not to lead a girl on, would you?” 

 

“It… it’s not that?” he sputtered, and he grabbed his own towel from the side of the bath. He waded out of the water carefully, wrapping it around him as he went. “I… just…” 

 

His breathing hitched, and he sank onto the vanity stool, wheezing helplessly. 

 

While this wasn’t an altogether  _ frequent  _ occurrence, it was a symptom that the stress of this whole interaction was getting to him on a biological level. He doubled over and tried to count the tiles on the floor to regulate his panic. 

 

This obvious emergency did seem to halt Hermione’s mood, and she was at his side in an instant. 

 

“Breathe deeply,” she commanded, her voice like honey and cinnamon on toast. “In, two, three. Out, two, three.” 

 

The repetition did help mediate his distress, and with a few minutes of concentrated effort, he was feeling better. 

 

“I’m sorry for assuming the worst,” Hermione said once Severus was able to look at her again. “It’s clear that this is something very… painful for you.” 

 

Unable to speak for the moment, Severus nodded, feeling grateful to be understood. 

 

“And  _ scary _ , too, it seems.” 

 

He frowned at the interpretation, casting a withering glance at her, and she laughed aloud. 

 

It took him some moments to be able to eek out, “I just don’t know what your  _ game  _ is, Granger.” 

 

She appeared stricken and enraged. “What  _ game? _ ”

 

“Whatever it is you’re doing with me,” Severus answered, trying to keep his voice neutral and even. “I don’t understand what you’re on about. Pretending to be  _ attracted  _ to my… form.” 

 

“It isn’t  _ pretending _ ,” Hermione gasped, sitting down in front of him on the floor. Her towel - which was Severus sized - engulfed her like a cloak, but he saw dark curls peeking from where she didn’t quite cover her waist. “Is that what you’ve been thinking this whole time?” 

 

“I don’t have any evidence to the contrary,” Severus said tersely, his whole face glaring directly at her. 

 

“But what evidence do you have to the  _ un- _ contrary?” Hermione responded, her eyes wide and angry. “I’ve been incredibly clear that I appreciate your body.” 

 

“ _ Appreciate _ , perhaps,” Severus growled, “but  _ like _ ?  _ Enjoy _ ?  _ Admire?  _ Come now. I am not so naive to fall for this flattery. There must be some  _ reason  _ you’re acting demonstrative towards me.” 

 

Recognition dawned upon her face at this revelation. “So  _ that’s  _ why you didn’t come back after the night we spent together before,” she registered, and her eyes welled up with wetness not caused by the humidity of the bathroom. “ _ That’s  _ why you have been so reluctant with me. I  _ knew  _  you couldn’t be telling me the whole truth. You haven’t believed me for a  _ second _ .” 

 

“No, I will give you enough credit,” Severus stated coldly. “I  _ did  _ believe you for a second. But I’m not so great a fool as to timidly fall in line with your little expectations so that I can be drawn like a pig to slaughter.” 

 

“That’s not what’s  _ happening _ , though,” Hermione protested, throwing her hands up in the air. This caused her towel’s edges to drop and the towel slipped off her body, revealing her podgy midsection. “I… Snape, I don’t know how you haven’t picked up on this yet, because I thought I was pretty fucking clear…  _ I dig fat men _ .” 

 

He just quirked an eyebrow at her, trying not to let his eye wander down her voluptuosity. “Explain.” 

 

“I… I just always have,” Hermione whimpered, sounding very small and vulnerable. She gazed at the ground, not willing to meet his eye. “I like my men large, in every way possible.” 

 

Severus refrained from commenting about pricks, despite the obvious hint. It didn’t help that, from their groping session last night, Hermione already knew his package was… for lack of a better word,  _ substantial _ .

 

“And thanks to me, Ronald Weasley gained a  _ hundred _ pounds during our relationship,” Hermione went on, her mood lightening. “He’s frantically at the gym every  _ day  _ trying to work it off. As if that famous Weasley flab is going anywhere.” This last pronouncement came with a smirk. “He  _ definitely  _ likes to eat.” 

 

The low, dry chuckle Severus gave was genuine. 

 

“And, well, I will confess I had an affair with a  _ very  _ well-endowed coworker of mine, for a short while,” Hermione continued, her gaze turning towards the stained-glass bathroom window. “It wasn’t long, but suffice it to say, it affirmed what I’ve always been attracted to: men who are unafraid of being big, and bold, and dangerous.” 

 

_ Dangerous  _ wasn’t a word that Severus thought to apply to himself any more. Neither was  _ bold _ , for that matter. It was odd to join those two adjectives with  _ big _ , for in his mind  _ big  _ meant  _ liability _ . 

 

“I think you overestimate how unafraid I am,” he said, thoughtful. “I’m notoriously a coward. Always have been, always will be.” 

 

“Piss off,” Hermione said with a laugh. “You know as well as I do, that’s just false self-criticism. You’re one of the fucking bravest men in wizarding Britain, and even Harry says so.” 

 

This made Severus laugh with conviction.  _ Harry Potter  _ thought him  _ brave _ ? What on earth had this world come to? 

 

“And he’s one of the fucking  _ dumbest  _ men in wizarding Britain,” Severus announced, “and you can fucking  _ tell him  _ so.” 

 

“I will, and he won’t care,” Hermione answered with a toothy grin. “Though I’d prefer not to tell him the context of our conversation.” 

 

“Whatever,” Severus groaned, “if you’re as brazen about your preferences as you seem to be today, I’m sure he’ll be unsurprised.” 

 

The next moment she turned very serious. “No one knows about my  _ preferences _ in so many words. I’d prefer to keep things that way, if you don’t mind.” 

 

“Hm,” Severus drawled, feeling vicious in a petty way. “So, Granger. You like  _ big  _ men. You like  _ fat  _ men. What do you think of a man like Horace Slughorn, hm?” 

 

Whatever he expected, he did  _ not  _ expect her to duck her head and appear almost  _ bashful _ . 

 

“If I didn’t know his strong preference for boys,” she answered, looking cagey as  _ hell _ . She left the rest of her sentence unfinished, leaving Severus with a strange, hopeful taste in his mouth. 

 

_ Whatever  _ this girl seemed to claim, she at least was internally consistent. He admired that commitment to the role, and wondered if, perhaps, it wasn’t a role at all… but an actual representation of her real self. 

 

Nah, that was unlikely. Who would be interested in a piece of shit like him? 

 

“Fine,” Severus answered, and decided it was high time to rise up and get on with his day. “I hear you, Granger. I won’t pretend to understand you, but I will take whatever perverse pleasure I can get in this miserable world. But I also maintain my limit: if you want to see more of  _ this… _ ” 

 

(He gestured mournfully at his overstuffed body.) 

 

“...you are going to have to  _ wait  _ until I’m  _ comfortable.  _ No one on this earth yet has witnessed the extent of my gluttony _ ,  _ and if you intend to be the first, you’re going to have to be fucking  _ patient. _ ” 

 

This seemed to brighten Hermione’s mood substantially. “Fair enough,” she purred, and she added with a wink, “also, I thought, last night, you said it was all due to your thyroid.” 

 

“That was a large part of the cause,” Severus admitted with measure, and added with a sigh, “but another large part was a simple abandonment of self-control.” 

 

“And the appetite of a  _ gourmand _ ,” Hermione teased, and he couldn’t help but fucking feel like she  _ appreciated  _ that part of him. This judgment was bolstered when she said, “I like a man who has a palate for quality. It’s not something I had with Ron.” 

 

“Quite frankly,” Severus groaned, standing up with careful effort, not meeting her gaze, “There are times I am discriminative, and times where I don’t give a shit what I eat. And most of the time, I eat absolute garbage.” 

 

“That’s just because there’s so  _ much  _ of you to fill up,” she responded sweetly, her lip curling with apparent affection. “Your poor belly would  _ starve  _ if you didn’t use some fillers.” 

 

“Now, that’s enough,” Severus warned sternly, not willing to indulge her silver tongue. “Go and dress, and leave me be. I’ve got to think about all of this carefully.” 

 

“Fine.” She pouted, but only slightly - and instead she draped her wet towel on a rack and traipsed off to the bedroom again. Severus remained there, standing very still and contemplating the whole affair with careful scrutiny. Then, with frustration, he dressed for his day once more. 


	4. Chapter 4

Severus awoke the next morning and thought long and hard about what occurred with Ms. Granger. Despite everything, he didn't have a solution to the problem that satisfied him, mostly because he was quite convinced that whatever the reason for Granger's interest, the solution was  _ not _ that she actually liked him. He really could not get his head wrapped around the idea that anyone would actually like extremely fat men like himself, as simple an idea as it was. 

 

But he tolerated her nonetheless, pretending to take her attestations at face value. 

 

The first week of term was like any other, except that Granger sometimes spent time with him in his rooms. It was oddly nice to have some company, though it did cramp his style somewhat. In front of her, he didn't feel entirely comfortable eating plate after plate of tea-cakes or sandwiches. So as a result, there was some grumpiness attendant with Granger's presence. 

 

The first Friday of term, Granger showed up at his door with an enormous bottle of firewhiskey. Without asking to enter, she barged in and threw herself on the divan with a sigh of relief. 

 

Severus was rather miffed, because she was later than she usually was. In fact, once she wasn't there right at five after her last class, he (erroneously) suspected she had gone out, or gone to her rooms and passed out, or something. So, as a result, he'd ordered a  _ massive _ quantity of food to binge upon from the House-Elves. 

 

He desperately didn't want her to see him at his level worst, stuffing himself to the point of tears. 

 

"Welcome, please come in and take over my home," he snarked with somewhat more vitriol than usual. 

 

"Sure," Hermione replied, unphased. She was barefoot now, and she’d thrown her heels under the coffee table. She uncorked the bottle with a practiced spell - wandless, he noticed - and unceremoniously took an enormous, painful drag. "Oof. What a week. I’m right knackered." 

 

"It only gets worse from here," Severus responded in a terse manner, seating himself in his comfortable chair and trying to not think about the enormous dinner en route to his rooms. 

 

But then again, he saw her take another long drag from the firewhiskey bottle, and he was fairly sure she wasn't sharing. Perhaps they could be miserable together in a fierce, unrepentant detente. 

 

His stomach rumbled. He hadn't eaten much this day, being too busy with his classes and also mentally planning on this binge-fest tonight. Hermione chuckled and smiled, looking positively beatific and eager. 

 

"Have you had supper yet?" she asked, eyes wide and alight with curiosity. "It sounds like not." 

 

"Hmph." Severus tried to avoid turning pink at her scrutiny. "It will be here presently." 

 

"That's good." She looked at the bottle in her hand, and sighed. While she seemed to want to say something, it also seemed like she didn't know what to say. As if she were contemplating some kind of excuse for her drinking behavior, but realizing there was nothing to say other than the obvious. 

 

Severus pinned his eyes to her, waiting with bated breath. Finally she uttered, looking around, "Would you like to watch cartoons with me?" 

He raised both eyebrows to express his surprise and mild confusion. 

 

"The electronics wards..." he began, but Hermione laughed. 

 

"I solved that in three hours my first night here," she said, and grinned. She had dimples nestled in her cheeks that were so, * _ so _ * inviting, and he felt a sudden tenseness grow in his loins. 

 

Dimples. That was a new one for him. He didn’t usually notice dimples. 

 

Before he could get his head out of his fog of admiration to ask further questions, she grabbed her satchel and withdrew a pounded-up laptop covered in stickers and crumbs. 

 

"I watch dumb shit but I won't apologize for my bad taste. It's mindless and it helps me relax."  

 

"Fine." Severus waved a hand at the cleared coffee table. "Put it there." 

 

He didn't comment, 'wouldn't you prefer to perform this ritual in the privacy of your own home,' because honestly, it was obvious that she wanted the company. And, to be fair, he did not awfully mind her company either, even if it somewhat cramped his style. 

 

So, in an accepting manner, he relocated himself to the sofa. Hermione made a point of readjusting the pillows so that there was something in the small of his back, which was uncommonly sweet for a girl who acted like an American gunslinger in terms of her boldness. She also drew the coffee table closer. 

 

It was at this precise moment - with either impeccable timing or awful timing - Kooky, one of the less judgmental house elves in the castle, arrived with a cart filled with food. She carefully arranged it right to the side of Severus, where he needed only to extend a hand to grab the next item. 

 

"How did you know I was coming?" Hermione asked with a laugh, staring at the enormous assortment. 

 

The uncomfortable silence between the three of them was painful. But Hermione, bless her, just said, "Oh," and went back to clicking on the computer. 

 

"Whatever you like, Miss, I'm happy to get you," Kooky offered, beaming and curtseying. 

 

"I... just a ham sandwich, if you please," she said, trying not to meet Severus' eyes. 

 

Once Kooky left the area, Hermione turned a concerned eye on her friend. 

 

"Aren't you going to eat?" 

 

"Oh. Erm. Yes." Severus' stomach felt dreadfully empty, so he went ahead and took a full bowl of mashed potatoes with a spoon. Feeling self-conscious, he added, "Would you like some?" 

 

"Sure." Hermione closed her eyes and opened her mouth, and he realized he was expected to feed her. So, he did so, plopping a large spoonful of mash in her mouth. A curl of it landed on the corner of her lips, but otherwise it all met its mark. 

 

Reveling in the decadence, she smiled and almost seemed to purr. 

 

"That's right," she said after swallowing, and she opened her eyes. "I could eat that whole bowl in one go. It's very good." 

 

"I  _ will _ ," Severus said, with a subtly dangerous tone, "And  _ more _ besides." 

 

"Of course, dearheart." The affection in her voice was palpable, and she winked at him. "But you'd best get started. Wouldn't want my man to waste away to nothing." 

 

He grunted - there was  _ no _ danger to that ever happening, as far as he was concerned - but he hesitantly scooped himself some more and brought it to his lips. 

 

He didn't notice that he closed his eyes when he tasted the mild, buttery potatoes crossing his tongue. But when he opened them again to get himself another bite, Hermione was smiling and holding her bottle up in a toast. 

 

"To vices," she breathed, and she swigged deeply. 

 

"And the people we share them with," Severus groused, though the only reason for his grumpiness was the fact that this first bite had activated sharp intense hunger pangs, and he  _ needed _ to get this whole bowl of mash down his gullet  _ immediately _ . 

 

She began to laugh mid-draft, and alcohol spurted out her mouth and nose. 

 

"Shit," she exclaimed, "shit. That hurts." She ran to the bathroom, clutching her nose in particular. 

 

He chuckled at the sight, though not enough for him to pause in his task of putting food in his face.  _ That _ was his primary priority for the moment. 

 

......................

 

She returned a bit later, looking more tired and like she'd washed up her makeup. He hadn't seen her without gunk on her face before, he realized now, at least not as an adult. She  _ had _ seemed suspiciously fresh-faced, but now she had dark lines - frown lines, brow furrow lines, dark under eye circles, and even dark lines on either side of her nose. 

 

She definitely looked older than he remembered. And it was simultaneously gratifying and depressing. 

 

"I'm fine," she said with a high voice and a laugh. "Not dead yet." 

 

"Keep drinking like that and you'll end up there sooner or later," Severus joked. He'd finished up the potatoes and had begun to embark on the large stack of steaks. As he took a rather large bite of meat, he brushed his outer lip with a droplet of juice. 

 

Hermione chuckled, noticing the way the oil ran down his chin, and she leaned in to lick it away. After the tender ministration was accomplished (Severus feeling self-conscious as hell), she pressed a kiss into his chubby cheek. "Keep eating like that, and so will  _ you _ ." 

 

Her touch felt electric tonight, and she grinned at how flustered he seemed to feel. "Though hopefully you'll make a detour to land in my bed, first,” she added with a smirk. 

 

The pain of a rising erection made him quiet, and he wondered how long he could hold himself off from having her stuff his cock up various holes. 

 

"Just... just eat something," he begged, shoving a platter of pasta and sauce into Hermione's hands.  

 

She accepted the request, and she took a fork and twirled it cautiously. The young woman looked back up at him and seemed simultaneously cautious but also keen on seeing his reaction. 

 

She took a single bite and chewed, then swallowed. But there was something in her eyes that told him, something new was coming. 

 

Hermione leaned over and opened up the computer, which was already queued  up to what we Muggles would think of as a sketchy website even by 2008 standards. But Severus didn't know anything about the internet, having been successfully isolated from the greater world outside Hogwarts for the best part of his life. 

 

“I think you’ll like this, if you’re open to it,” she said, and smiled apologetically. “If not, well, hopefully it’s mindless enough you won’t be bothered by it.” 

 

“Hmph.” Severus hadn’t watched any form of television in  _ years _ . It was something that he’d done of a Saturday morning with Lily Evans, and thus had a strong association for him. 

 

But there were several key differences in this viewing, he noticed: he was  _ grown up _ in more ways than one, and Hermione Granger was already an accomplished witch who did not need his assistance in navigating the complicated norms and mores of the wizarding world. Also unlike his relationship with Lily, he really had nowhere to go in Hermione’s estimation but up, because she’d already seen him at his worst. He didn’t have the pressure of needing to impress her eclipsing his ability to be honest and open. 

 

Also, Lily had this bright-eyed bushy-tailed demeanor. Granger, despite her youth relative to his age, was tired and spent and in a completely different frame of mind. 

 

(Notably, as well, Granger was far more sexually expressive than the hear-no-evil Lily. And in this way, Severus was more captivated by the young professor than he’d ever been by his childhood friend.) 

 

So reflecting, Severus tried to regulate his breath and simultaneously inhale his meal. The flavors of pepper and Worcestershire, ever so slightly tart and warm, inspired a dark and painful amount of arousal on his tongue - and also below his belt. 

 

This was abruptly discontinued by the sight of her first cartoon - a trio of anthropomorphic fast food items in a suburban setting. The story made barely any sense to Severus as he watched, and he frowned and “hmph”ed and winced at the crass language and unsubtle characters. 

 

“I take it you’re not a fan,” Hermione said as the first show came to an end. “I should have guessed.” 

 

“I do think it’s… terrible,” he admitted, and he extended a hand for the tray of pasta that lay on the coffee table out of his reach. Hermione obtained it for him without comment. “Also, I want to know what they do next.” 

 

“ _ Perfect _ ,” Hermione chittered, and she settled back and poured herself her next glass. 

 

She was drinking like a man who’d been wandering the desert for days, and it was somewhat terrifying to see. At the same time, as Severus methodically destroyed one plate, then another, he recognized he also was a sight to see. His face was a perfectly-calibrated machine of consumption, where he’d accept large, wolfish bites that then were passed to the back of his mouth to further masticate while his front tongue and teeth were engaged in getting his next victual into his mouth. 

 

Indeed, Hermione knew that Severus was likely going to finish almost all of what was brought to him from the kitchens, and Hermione did not seem to have any significant problem with that. It was simultaneously refreshing and unnerving, to know that she was going to keep quiet on the topic… aside from her unexpectedly erotic teasing. 

 

After another episode, Hermione shrugged her way onto another website. Severus was done with his meat and potatoes, and his pasta, and now he was rather groggily digging into his mincemeat pie. His fork was slower than it had been, but still making rounds between vanilla custard and fruit tart as well. When it came to sweet things, he liked to distribute the flavors evenly across his dining experience, which was different than the utilitarian approach he had towards his mains and sides. 

 

Hermione was eating her ham sandwich, and simultaneously nibbling at his custard with a spare spoon. There really was plenty, but it piqued his hunger to see food disappearing off his plate when it hadn’t been admitted into his digestive system. 

 

“Stop,” he muttered lowly after one too many times, and Hermione put down the spoon. She smelled so sweet and lovely, and the way her face had aged made her look so tired and wise. 

 

Then before he could say anything else, her face was pressed against his own, her tongue curling inside his mouth with cool, fresh custard flavor. He felt her transfer the creamy goodness to his own tongue, and he accepted it like a greedy piglet suckling at its mother’s teat. He accepted that assertive mouth of hers, and blithely complied with every needy flick and twist. She felt so hungry for him, and he almost could believe that she genuinely fancied him. 

 

“I assumed you wanted it back,” she chirped once she pulled away, flushing and starry-eyed. 

 

The taste of  _ her  _ combined with the custard made for a  _ very  _ uncomfortable situation in Severus’ trousers at the moment, and those words were the cherry on top of the erotic sundae. The warmth at his groin alerted him to the painful reality of his overactive imagination, and with a sense of discomfort, he staggered to standing. 

 

“Thank you for that,” he said carefully, and offered, “I’ll just be a moment.” 

 

He heard her say, “Of course, dearheart,” again, and it made him tingle up and down his spine. Hurrying for dear life, Severus thrust himself into the loo and settled heavily on that velvet vanity stool. Sucking in his gut to better get at his crotch, he undid his fly and withdrew his aching member. With a practiced gesture, he grasped himself, but he could not close his eyes and allow release. 

 

Strangely, it felt like more than just taboo to have a casual wank in the loo. It practically felt like a  _ betrayal _ , and realizing this made him profoundly uncomfortable. 

 

He sat there, staring at himself in the mirror, the sadness clouding his eyes second by second. 

 

What was this girl  _ doing  _ to him? He hadn’t been this unrepentantly horny since he was a teenager, a feature of his highly volatile mood swings. It was  _ damn _ uncomfortable and he  _ hated  _ it. And moreover, she was already attaching herself to him like a barnacle to a boulder. It was infuriating how casual she was about the whole thing - like she just got in bed with whatever pathetic fool came into her orbit.  And yet this casualness was also part of her allure… 

 

Severus sighed, glaring at his bleak reflection. He filled up the mirror so completely. It was disgusting - he took up so much fucking  _ space _ . How could he even get  _ inside  _ her if they did manage to wind up in bed together? Would he even be able to get… what was the phrase… ‘balls deep’ in her? He was so  _ round  _ and there was so much of him in the fore. He couldn’t imagine any situation where she wouldn’t be repulsed at the sight of him disrobed. 

 

She simply had to go. This would never work. 

 

So thinking, he put his cock back where he kept it, and he wandered out of the loo with a face that stung with emotions he couldn’t identify. 

 

Imagine his shock when he found her in nothing more than a negligee, sprawled across his couch like a spider woman. 

 

“Mm, come here, love,” she slurred, budging her legs over and curling them beneath her. “You look so  _ sad.  _ What’s got you down, hm?” 

 

He thought about responding, but his stomach answered for him of its own accord. The belch rose from deep in his gut and rumbled out of his mouth. He had just enough warning to capture it in his sleeve. 

 

Maybe he was wrong about the mood swings - he felt depressed enough that he wanted to break down in tears right then and there. 

 

“It’s nothing,” he lied, sitting down next to her despite all his misgivings. “Just a bit of indigestion.” 

 

“Oh, you poor darling,” Hermione drawled, and she swigged from her half-empty bottle. “You’d better have some more custard.” 

 

He opened his mouth to protest, but in a flash Hermione was spoon-feeding him with such zeal and tenderness that he couldn’t help but accept the sweet dollops of kindness. 

 

“Taste it,” she implored, and his cock tightened again in a surge of energy. “I’m sure it’s  _ delectable _ . And so easy on the stomach, too.”

 

“Mmmph,” he responded emphatically, his eyes drifting closed despite his better judgment. He  _ knew  _ he shouldn’t be allowing this kind of intimacy… it wasn’t what a man  _ did  _ with a woman who he intended to send away. But with every bite, he felt himself lose bit by bit of resolve that he’d had regarding his plans to send her packing.  

 

He wasn’t going to be able to deal with this  as easily as he’d hoped. Maybe he would just have to accept the terror of uncertainty. Maybe he’d have to learn to live with this woman for as long as she wanted to swirl around him, an unstoppable vortex of confusing erotic energies. 

 

With this spirit, he took several deep inhales of custard, then opened his eyes to shyly smile at her. 

 

“It’s better now,” he admitted, looking into her bright and shining hazel eyes. “It’s better than I ever remember.” 

 

“That’s the spirit!” chortled Hermione, laughing and giddy. She was all smiles at this point, and clearly she was enjoying herself a great deal. “Finally, fucking  _ finally _ , Snape, you get it. You do!”  With that, she pressed a drunken, passionate kiss on his lips. 

 

He felt his heart melting as certainly as custard on hot summer concrete. Whatever was happening, he was doomed to fall in line with whatever she desired of him. 


	5. Chapter 5

The clock said one o’clock. It was a familiar sight, as Severus was no stranger to insomnia. He jerked awake and gazed about the darkened room.

 

Everything felt very still. As his groggy mind began to alight, of a sudden he came to consciousness of a deeper kind. It was as if he'd been walking through life with a plate of smudged glass in front of him, and now someone had removed it.

 

It was an instantaneous feeling of vulnerability, and he felt like he was walking on a tightrope across a canyon.

 

Hermione Granger was snuggled in his armpit, upon his bed, and snoring like the world would never end.

 

Last time this had happened, at least she had been dressed. Today, she wasn't wearing anything.

 

Moments of the night past flashed through Severus' mind, terrifying him. She'd thrown off the negligee, claiming she was too warm. This was September in Scotland; it wasn't exactly Rio de Janerio in July.And then she'd invited him to touch her - tenderly, urgently, passionately.

 

He was immensely glad to see that _he_ was still wearingclothing, but as his fingers grazed against her skin, he felt a roughness upon their tips. A thin film began to peel off, and it reminded him of dried snail mucin.

 

Apparently, he’d done a good job of _touching_.

 

With some horror, he rushed to the loo and poured soap into his hands like he'd touched a dead body. Memories flooded back into his mind as he stared at his sore fingers, and he wondered how on earth she’d convinced him to abuse them so.

 

The night settled upon him heavily as he looked himself over - his hair was a proper mess, his under-eye circles emerged in dark half-moons, and he wasn’t wearing a belt so his trousers were slipping. He did his part to put himself to rights, as he’d done earlier in the evening, and he stared at the bleak picture he made in the mirror.

 

He looked worse than before, if that were possible: his stomach was distended and bloated with food, his cheeks were reddish and puffy like a chipmunk with an allergic reaction, and the unmistakeable downward curl of his lips was unable to perk upwards no matter how he tried.

 

Her bar must be _very_ low indeed, to stoop to his level. Sooner or later, she’d wake up and gag on the thought that she’d ever called him _dearheart_.

 

Feeling a bit nauseous, he stumbled out of the loo to open a window. He settled into a sturdy chair that he kept nearby and propped his feet on the footstool, breathing heavily and closing his eyes. The crisp air came in spurts of breeze, cool and a bit damp with early morning dew.

 

He wondered why this girl was here, and what she must be thinking.

 

She looked deceptively innocent, swathed in his delicate bedlinens. The bit of moonlight that shone through the window illuminated her face, rendering it simultaneously childlike and aged. Timeless, that was the right word. 

 

He _wanted_ to go back to bed and knot his fingers in her tight-kinked curls. The way she snuggled so prettily among the pillows made him woozy with adoration and lust.

 

Unbidden, he suffered remembrances of how it had felt to thrust his fingers inside her. She was so slick and squishy inside, and the fluids just seemed to keep coming and coming and coming…

 

She’d smiled at him and told him, sleepily, that he’d been _brilliant_. As she lay her head upon his soft over-grown pectoral flab, letting herself drift away upon it like it was the finest of pillows, he’d felt a warm treacle-like glow burst inside his chest.

 

It was a terrifying thought, to think that she might want this for more than tonight. It had only been a few days, really, less than a month. But it was enough time for him to feel some kind of hope lurking in the shadows of his heart.

 

All the evidence was suggesting that she was interested, and actually _keen_ on him. Instead, he was beginning to see that the trouble in accepting and enjoying his present reality? It came from his stubborn, skeptical, heart.

 

Realizing this was like dropping a coin into a metal barrel: it clanged so loudly and resonated so deeply. His chest felt so empty and gaping in a way he couldn’t remember feeling, except for when confronted with the magic of Lily Evans.

 

Beyond a doubt, he _wanted_ the young professor, to a degree he found personally troubling. And at least at this point, he saw the disconnect between his mind and his heart. The question was, was it possible she might want him for longer than a passing fancy?

 

Severus was a bit too all-or-nothing to enjoy the concept of a minor flirtation. But as he reflected upon old, well-worn thoughts and feelings, he remembered a conclusion he’d come to long ago. He shook the cobwebs off and looked at it again, feeling dismay but also resignation.

 

He remembered that knowledge from his younger days, so painful and deep that it could only emerge from grief: if only he’d had the chance to connect with Lily again, he’d have settled for friendship.

 

He’d have accepted her desire to pursue romantic endeavors other than him. He’d have permitted himself to love her both closely and from afar at the same time.Bathing in her simple companionship was a blessing he never understood until he didn’t have it anymore. It didn’t matter if he was the love of _her_ life, because _she_ was the love of _his_.

 

Now, he had a chance to act on these feelings. The connection between these thoughts was somewhat loose initially, but it tightened up as he reviewed his logic. The connection was that: it was better to have loved and lost than not loved at all.

 

He had a chance, this moment, to embrace Hermione Granger without reservations. To ignore those paranoid thoughts that reminded him of how much it would hurt if she left. To throw caution to the wind in the hopes of something blossoming. He couldn’t get a guarantee of permanence from her, no. But it was better to try and fail at this… better than to hold back and almost certainly push her away.

 

Keeping her at arm’s length to avoid getting hurt would also prevent him from developing the closeness he craved.This was what his wiser self recognized, despite the emotions of fear and traumatic re-activation he was experiencing.

 

His stomach turned over inside his belly, and he realized that he was feeling of a mood for a midnight snack. So he called his favorite elf and quietly ordered some things, then sat back and relaxed in his chair.

 

………….

 

Soon enough, he had a tray in front of him, with a single candle to light his way. A cake with chocolate ganache and bourbon cherries towered over the assortment of mostly sweet things, which also included: a half-dozen cinnamon rolls with plump raisins and dusted with confectioner’s sugar; sweet Tahitian vanilla ice cream with specks of ground bean throughout; candied and crystallized fruit of a unique assortment; another mincemeat pie since he hadn’t had his fill from earlier.

 

It was a grotesque amount of food, even for him, but he dutifully began to pick at the best bits of each thing. He hated to waste food, even though it was his fault. He knew he’d ordered far too many things to make good use of in one sitting. But there was some part of him that loved the challenge of ordering far too much, and struggling through as much as he could.

 

The cake was rich and flavorful, and diverse enough in textures and flavors that he got a substantial amount down before he began to feel sick from the richness of it. Ice cream was perfect to cleanse the palette, refreshing and cool, and easy to suck down. Intersperse this with bites of cinnamon roll and bits of fruit. And then, once he was feeling _really_ full, he nibbled at the mincemeat pie, digging into one corner and munching through to the center with practiced precision.

 

He was just at this point when he saw Hermione turn over, struggle for a moment in the bed, and then turn over once more. Then, she sat up, and gazed forlornly at the sight of Severus with his mess of food. He could only imagine what he looked like - he hurriedly grasped a napkin and dabbed at his face. A secondary transfer of chocolate smeared onto his fingers.

 

Hermione smiled sleepily at him, then slipped off the bed and padded over to him. Her bare feet landed with satisfying heavy thumps on the hard wooden floor. She had slipped into a kimono that loosely tied around her waist, but her beautiful cleavage was exposed in a sensually evocative way.

 

“You planning to share?” she asked, her tone delightfully tricky and playful.

 

Severus just grunted, still holding a napkin and rubbing at the wayward chocolate on his fingertips,but he gestured across the table to offer her the invitation.

 

“Don’t mind if I do,” she said, and took a fork to attack the cake with gusto.

 

Unlike Severus with his iron constitution, she only could manage around ten bites before she had to rest her fork. “I don’t know how you do it,” she muttered appreciatively, looking him up and down. “You seem to have a limitless appetite.”

 

“Years of practice,” Severus grumbled, and added with a snort, “And the severe disapproval of Madam Pomfrey.”

 

So saying, he sipped a bit of whiskey to cut the edge of all the sweetness on his tongue.

 

“I can only imagine,” Hermione tutted sympathetically, and she began to taste her way around the table as well. “You would think she’d be pleased, not having to see you so malnourished anymore.”

 

“You _would_ think _,”_ Severus drawled in agreement. There was a feeling of immense happiness settling around him like warm snowflakes, and he cast a rare smile at her. It must not have come off right, because Hermione looked surprised and mildly horrified at the sight. “What?” he asked, and she gave a sharp bark of a laugh.

 

“Nothing,” she answered, grimacing as she stifled a belch. “You just are… very _you_ , Snape.”

 

And as if to avoid having to explain herself, she snatched his nearly-empty whiskey glass and poured it half full. She downed it all with a fierce recklessness that made him worried.

 

“So,” she asked, before he could probe further. “When are you going to let me take care of _you_?”

 

A few startled moments passed as Severus groggily tried to think of what she might mean. Once he realized this was a non sequitur and a reference to _sex_ , he shrank into himself like a snail. 

 

“Like, I know it needs to be more romantic than this,” Hermione went on, staring at him with level eyes and a keen, predatory grin. “But I’m not sure when I should make my move.”

 

“Mmph,” Severus offered noncommittally, and he carefully swallowed another bite of mincemeat pie. “Perhaps in October.”

 

“I _like_ it _,”_ Hermione answered, clearly pleased at the idea though also somewhat let-down that the answer was not _here and now is fine_. “I can see it now. The first month of term is over. We go out for a cool autumn walk to watch the leaves fly off the trees. We chuckle at squirrels and ignore students clamoring for revisions of their grades. And somehow we escape it all, only to collapse breathlessly into your bed. And there, I tempt you into sweet, gentle lovemaking more wholesome and tender than you have ever known.”

 

“You paint quite the picture,” Severus answered, though he sighed. The largest part of what sexual pleasure he got, these days, came from gustatory sources - leaving this out of the story was frankly a disappointment.

 

Then again, he had not _precisely_ told Hermione the extent to which he needed that pleasurable pain of an overstuffed belly to sexually unfurl.

 

Trying his best to be communicative, he added, “As long as your persuasions involve… ample opportunity to recover my strength… I am your willing servant.”

 

“Oh, yes.” Hermione’s eyes lit up in recognition, thank heaven.She was a bright girl; she didn’t need it spelled out. “You can eat two suppers for me again, dearhreart.”

 

He flinched slightly at the term of endearment, but forced a small smile to his face nonetheless. “I appreciate the consideration for my waistline.”

 

“Hm, your waistline will scarcely notice it,” Hermione shot back, her grin infectious. “It’s got rather a lot to worry about.” 

 

He quirked an eyebrow in askance.

 

“For example,” Hermione added with a furious blush, “where will it find room for all the lovely layers of this fine confection?”

 

So saying, she picked up the fork from the cake and brought it to his lips. Severus, at the intimate gesture, felt a rush of blood to his nethers and also to his face.

 

“Please,” he begged, though he felt nowhere near able to swallow the morsel. His mouth was too dry. Dutifully, he accepted the bite as it was placed in his mouth. His eyes closed and he felt as relieved and buoyant as a balloon bobbing on the ocean waves.

 

“A bit of tea, with that?” Hermione offered, refilling his cup and stirring with a spoon. There was a knowing twinkle in her eye that made him feel incredibly shy. He nodded and took a sip; she’d sweetened it a little more than he liked, but he didn’t mind.

 

The liquid helped stimulate his appetite again, and the rest of the cake went down smoothly. He felt sated and replete, but her eyes were on him and he couldn’t fully enjoy the sensation of fullness. So instead of getting lost in the feeling, he picked at some of the cinnamon rolls with his fork.

 

Severus was at the point in his fullness where he was able to graze but not glut himself. A drizzle of honey danced across his tongue with simple grace, and he relished the flavor with gratitude. A hint of nutmeg and almond, pasty and earthy. His mouth heated with the flavor of spice, and it made him shiver up and down his spine in deep appreciation.

 

“Kiss me,” he rasped over the capsaicin, and Hermione greedily obliged. Her soft lips met his and she tore apart his mouth with a fervor that made him bashful. The way she probed with her aching tongue, the way she relaxed into his softness, and the way she took his lazy responses in stride… he knew he had met his perfect match.

 

“I’m wondering what you’re going to do, now,” he asked after she disengaged from him at last. She was panting and stressed, but bright and eager of face. It made him feel so goddamn _young_ to see her level of want.

 

For a moment, it almost made him believe that he might actually be _desirable_ in some sick way.

 

Hermione stared back at him, beaming and silent, smug and self-assured.

 

“We could do whatever you like, Snape,” she stated in measured tones. “I can take you or leave you, as you please.”

 

A shooting pain of unfulfilled desire raced through his veins.

 

“Leave me?” he asked, trying not to allow her the pleasure of seeing how much this idea scared him.

 

She laid down her spoon and gazed at him, eyes wide and a bit owlish behind her glasses.

 

“Well, maybe not,” she softened, her own vulnerability coming to the forefront unexpectedly. As if she was just pretending at this strong, fickle, goddesslike demeanor, and she couldn’t fully commit to the role.

 

Her eyes darted away from his, and he observed her whole demeanor stiffen. “I need a drink,” she offered, brusque and abrupt, and she whirled away from the table towards the decanter of firewhiskey.

 

It was jarring to see how quickly she disassembled. Severus, having reclined oh so briefly in the position of prostrate, felt pulled back to reality. Of course her need overshadowed his - that was the way it always was. His need to not be in control, to not be so bloody _responsible_ , to be cradled and coddled like a love-starved infant… it didn’t really matter. Not in the greater scheme of things.

 

He was doomed always to be the nurturer, the comforter, the protector.

 

It wouldn’t hurt so fucking _bad_ if he didn’t get such promising glimpses of what it might be like to have the shoe on the other foot.

 

So it was with somewhat disappointed, harsh eyes that Severus watched Hermione knock back a full glass. It wasn’t a look that he meant to be intentionally offensive, but Hermione couldn’t know that. Instead, she reacted just as sharply.

 

“What?” She snarled at him, her lip curling under in a horrifying and uncomfortable grimace. “Do you judge me, Snape?”

 

“No, I do not,” Severus floundered, feeling off-kilter. He hadn’t realized that his feelings were so close to the surface.

 

“Don’t _lie_ to me!” Hermione’s eyes were full of rage, and suddenly her hair was standing all on end with intense, fierce involuntary magic. “I’m _not_ interested in your excuses! I don’t _care!”_

 

“Your anger suggests otherwise,” Severus drawled despite himself, the consummate smart-mouth.

 

“Leave me!” Hermione demanded, sounding like a petulant five year old.

 

Severus’ face remained neutral. He knew a fit when he saw one, and he knew the best way to counter one was to maintain a solid, immovable presence. She could throw herself at him like a toddler tantruming in a Tesco’s until she was blue in the face. Eventually she would get through it, as long as he didn’t feed into the power play.

 

Of course, it made her more angry to see him so unresponsive.

 

“I said,” she insisted, “leave me!”

 

Severus simply shrugged and remained seated. His stomach was churning in discomfort, overtaxed and settling into an even more bloated mass than it had been before. (This was simultaneously disgusting and satisfying.) He put both hands atop it and watched her, fingers steepled and eyes piercingly interested.

 

“It’s my living room,” he offered, no judgment in his voice.

 

Ah, yes. The observation made her frown and shudder, and she poured herself another drink with obvious shame.

 

“Come to lay down.” Severus wasn’t entirely convinced she would be interested, since the spell of their romantic moment had been so messily broken. But he was gratified to see that after another hearty swallow, she grumpily tramped back to the bedroom.

 

Licking his fingers for the last bits of chocolate, he slowly rose and followed her.

 

……………………

 

“I’m going to join you, if you don’t mind.”

 

She didn’t respond, but also didn’t argue. Severus settled down next to her in the bed, turning his gaze upon her with concern. He watched as her breaths heaved in and out, exhausted and sad.

 

“I didn’t mean to be so rude,” Hermione mumbled, halfway into the pillow. “I just… I don’t want people thinking I’m a lush.” 

 

Saying ‘why would they say that?’ would be disingenuous. She was smart enough to see through it. So insteadhe said, “I don’t judge you.”He lay his head upon his pillow, pushing back his long graying hair.

 

She glared, but she also took off her glasses and put them on the side table.

 

“Since you brought it up, I _am_ concerned, though,” Severus went on, treading very lightly. He turned upon his side so he could stare at her down his nose. “I worry that you drink more than is good for you.”

 

The snort of laughter was unexpected, and loud to the point of being startling.

 

“Do you _really_ want to go there?” Hermione asked, as bitter as stinging nettle. “Because there are things I could worry about with you, too.”

 

“I know,” Severus replied with a low, sad voice. “Though if we’re splitting straws - my vice does not have the same element of immediate impairment.” 

 

She hit her pillow with another annoyed snort. “You should have seen your face after eating that whole goddamn cake.”

 

Knowing she was somewhat right, he didn’t answer. Instead, he closed his eyes and sighed.

 

“I’m sorry. That isn’t fair,” she went on, though she still sounded angry. “I know whiskey is a mite different than cake.” 

 

“Not to say that you’ve been irresponsible,” Severus said, trying to ignore the jab that made him feel sick to his stomach. He turned to rest on his back again, staring bleakly at the ceiling. “I just worry that your sense of boundaries might be clouded.”

 

“What do you mean by that?”

 

She was so direct, it honestly was refreshing. In his dealings with women over the years, he was used to maneuvering subtleties. It was difficult because it was new and unusual, but he liked it.

 

He watched her out of the corner of his eye. “I worry about the combination of alcohol and sexual relations.” He tried to impart the proper somberness of tone. “The last thing I would ever want to do would be to have relations with someone who would regret the choice in the morning.”

 

“You can’t control other people’s regrets, Snape,” Hermione grumbled, rolling her eyes. “All you can do is offer yourself in good faith, and hope that the other person understands that.”

 

“Yes…” Severus said, feeling unheard. He relaxed his neck muscles and took a deep diaphragmatic breath. “But that’s what I’m trying to do with you. I want to make sure you have informed consent, to put it crudely. If I am to be with someone, I want to make my best efforts to ensure that it’s an experience that is enjoyed by both parties.”

 

She didn’t seem convinced. “In other words, Snape, you are afraid of being vulnerable.”

 

“Can you blame me?” He felt the corner of his eyes stinging. “As a lover? I know I’m…not a prize. I’ve done… horrible, ghastly, inhumane things in my life. And I’ve done shit-all to atone for them.”

 

Hermione sat straight up in bed and looked at him. “Are you talking about the _war?_ ”

 

“Wars.” 

 

“Right.” She seemed hesitant to agree with him, but she nodded with the same solemnity he imparted. “So you think I can’t make rational choices because of my drinking, is that right?”

 

He knew the question was loaded. He just wasn’t sure if he was about to set it off. “I just want to be _certain_ that you know what you’re doing. Most people would never allow someone like _me_ admittance into intimacy with them. I consider most people wise in this regard. And thus it begs the question of why _you_ think otherwise, despite your obvious brilliance.”

 

She quirked an eyebrow at him, though she also was beginning to blink like a sleepy puppy.

 

“So, you think I’m _brilliant_ ,” she echoed, still sounding surprised at this concept - same as that first eventful evening as they walked back to the castle from Hogsmeade. “And you are as bloody toxic as coal, is that it?”

 

He couldn’t disagree. His heart ached, and all he could do was groan in response.

 

“But Snape,” Hermione stated, yawning widely. “Compressed coal produces diamonds, don’t you know?”

 

He chuckled, sad that she should try so hard for something so worthless. “I won’t argue with you, Granger,” he said, turning over to face his back towards her.

 

It had started raining, he could see the splatter on the bedroom windows. He remembered the parlor windows remained open, and waved his hand to close them with a wandless spell. They clattered shut and he sighed. He noticed that his face was wet, and he did his best not to sniffle. Tears did _not_ become him.

 

“So I’m deluded, is that it?” Hermione asked the darkness around them. Her own voice sounded tight, as if he’d hurt her feelings.

 

“I don’t mean that,” he explained. “It’s just that I… know my own…worth.”

 

This last word eeked out of his mouth in a near-whisper.

 

“What was that?” Hermione asked in clarification.

 

But he couldn’t get farther because of the lump in his throat. He was surprised to feel a soft, welcoming arm wrap around his waist. Two sumptuous breasts, released from their hiding place within the kimono, pressed into the flesh of his back.

 

“I guess I know how that feels,” she offered. “I don’t know if it matters, but I care. And I think you’re rather brilliant yourself, Snape.”

 

He couldn’t say anything aloud lest he lose his composure, so he sighed and nestled his face deeper into his pillow.

 

“I’m sorry I keep pushing,” Hermione offered. “I suppose I’m feeling insecure about myself. It’s hard not to hear repulsion from you. I just need to remember you direct it mostly at yourself.”

 

“Fuck.” Severus couldn’t bear it. He was crying outright now, and that’s all the words he could utter. His thoughts sped a million miles an hour - somewhat accusatory of her, largely self-flagellating, and entirely too hopeful. He didn’t like feeling like this, simultaneously optimistic that _perhaps maybe_ he had _found someone,_ and also brutally pessimistic that _it can’t be this easy._

 

Fortunately for him, she didn’t demand further conversation from him the remainder of the night. Soon she was peacefully snoring, while he battled his demons alone.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

Days turned to weeks, and weeks began to pass with alarming speed. Suddenly, they were at the end of October, and Severus was surprised at how _comfortable_ he was with the young Professor Granger.

 

She still drank like a fish, and he still ate like a boar, but somehow they had reached some level of understanding and camaraderie. It felt so natural, after a mere two months, to sit together staring into the fire of a cool Scottish _feasgar._ Her hand would sometimes wind its way into his, and the warmth of it peeled away the final barriers he had to embracing and accepting intimacy.

 

It was during this kind of comfortable moment, on All Hallow’s Eve, that Severus felt his stomach churn with a sudden, unbiddenknowledge: he was _ready_.

 

“Granger,” he breathed, and he ran a tongue over his dry lips. “What would you like to do, this evening?”

 

“You mean, you aren’t interested in finishing your book?” Hermione raised an eyebrow at him, curious and possibly a little annoyed. Her finger was poised on the edge of her own page, and she did not seem pleased at an interruption.

 

“I am,” Severus agreed, laying down his material with a sigh. His heart was beating faster, and his breath was about to catch in his throat. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to give himself a panic attack. He tried to keep his voice calm and level. “I simply find my mind wandering.”

 

“To where?”

 

Her question was direct and somewhat cold. Perhaps this wasn’t a good idea after all.

 

“Never mind,” he responded, rising and stretching with care. His joints hadn’t hurt before he spoke, but now they ached, and he wondered if all of this was a fool’s errand.

 

He didn’t like the solution that presented itself first to his mind. Scrying was never a first, second, or third choice for him, but something about the mood of the holiday moved him towards it. That, and Hermione’s own reluctance to engage with him with the receptiveness he hoped.

 

Not looking to her, he toddled to his pantry cupboard and found a knife, an apple, and a few hazelnuts. Perfect. This was all he needed.

 

Without deliberation, he settled back into his chair at the fire and bent over. The two hazelnuts rolled out of his hands and landed together on the stone hearth. The invocation was easily done in a whisper, and he sat back, noticing he’d been holding his breath.

 

Hermione didn’t seem to notice, absorbed as she was in her reading. The momentary disruption did not remove her too far from her focus.

 

Then, Severus took the knife and carefully began to peel the apple. The skin was thick and the knife was dull, so it was more difficult than he hoped to carve the peel in one long continuous strand, but his deft fingers managed to make it work (despite their pudginess).

 

With another invocation, he closed his eyes and tossed the strand behind him over his shoulder, and it landed with a wet splat partially on the edge of his chair’s back, and partially on the bare floor behind them.

 

This got Hermione’s attention, and she grumpily peered at him from over the edge of her book. “What was that?” she asked, and then noticed the apple and knife in his hands. “Hungry?”

 

There was a sharp smile on her face, simultaneously excited but pessimistic - like a hungry dog that had been starved mercilessly, but that out of pure survival instinct continued to hope for scraps.As he studied her, he decided that she looked somewhat gaunt in the dim glow of the fire. It was as if she’d been growing smaller of late, not eating as much. This corresponded with what Severus had been noticing of her - his impression was that she was drinking more, and eating less, and her clothes seemed to cling a little less closely to her amplitude.

 

There was still plenty of substance to her, but she had deflated somewhat. It roused his concern in a way he didn’t expect. And it made him want to give her an unexpected feast.

 

But he was an inveterate worrywort, and even though the hazelnuts at the hearth seemed content to remain together without hissing or spitting, he needed more evidence that his instinctive actions would be welcome.

 

He took a perfunctory bite of the apple, then stood up and struggled to look at the rind on the floor.

 

It was not a perfect uppercase H - which would have still remained inconclusive in his mind nonetheless - but he could see how it resembled an H in lowercase, if written in script.

 

Racking his brains trying to remember one final superstition to bolster his ego, he kicked the rind to the fire and resumed his seat.

 

“Stop thinking so loudly,” grumbled Hermione, snapping her book flat against her knee. “You’re too restless, Snape.”

 

“I apologize,” he offered, closing his eyes. He remembered a rite where if he ate some salted bread and went to bed silently, he would dream of his future spouse giving him a drink of water. But the idea of trying to scarf down something, when his throat already was so dry, made him painfully uncomfortable. So, he rose again and drew himself a glass of cold water from the bathroom tap, letting the water rise in the basin while he sipped.

 

It was dark; there was only light from a candle in the bathroom, the shining moon and stars outside, and the gleam of the fire. And it was there, in that shadowy gloom, that he remembered a final intervention that might seal his fate, and reassure him that he was not to err.

 

He turned off the tap and stared into the half-full basin, watching as the water danced in the partial light. As it began to settle, he entered a state of calmness, deep relaxation, and he held onto the sides of the sink to keep himself from toppling over onto the floor.

 

It felt tremendously odd to be staring into the shadowed water, seeing his reflection dappled on its surface. Severus was not generally given to full-throated enthusiasm for divination - in fact, he often downright laughed in its face. But his life had been changed by a bloody prophecy, and thus he regarded the practices with simultaneous belief and incredulity. And in moments like this, when he had no guide to turn to, he saw value in addressing the future with whatever aid he could get.

 

So, with a final invocation, he closed his eyes and re-opened them to see the very clear image of a scowling Hermione in the water.

 

But the reflection was not a vision - the young professor was standing next to him, arms crossed in frustration, and she did not seem amused.

 

“Have you gone _quite_ mad?” Her voice was tinged with disgust, but Severus felt like he was trying to walk over live electric wires, he was so nervous. His pulse was beginning to enter a state of franticness, and he noticed his breath beginning to catch.

 

“Let me,” he asked, gesturing to the doorway she occupied, and she sidestepped to allow him through.

 

She was clearly surprised when he grasped her arm and dragged her into the bedroom.

 

“What… what are we doing?” she asked, beginning to laugh as they seated themselves on the side of the bed. “Severus?”

 

She only used his name in moments of intimacy, when both of them had their defenses down and they were connecting deeply.

 

“I’m _comfortable_ ,” he offered, with a shy smile. “Whatever you will think of me, I am ready.”

 

“Are… are you serious?” Hermione was so used to having her advances shot down, she seemed surprised and a little embarrassed. “I… erm…”

 

Severus was peeling off his clothing, his fingers dancing as if possessed across all the buttons.

 

“What?” His voice was low and dark, as he tried to understand the situation. Then, realizing she was not as enthusiastic as he’d expected, he slowed. “Do you not _wish_ to…do this?”

 

“Oh, please, please, don’t take me to be reluctant,” Hermione insisted, and she sidled up closely to him with a return of his shy grin. “I… just… I’m in the middle of my cycle right now.”

 

He frowned. “Oh. Are you in pain?”

 

“A bit, but that’s not the problem,” she reassured him, and sighed. “I just… have it on good authority that it’s a bit much for people to deal with when focused on pleasure. I will gladly suck you off,” she continued, though her face softened at the disappointment in his eyes. “I wouldn’t want your first time to be… lackluster.”

 

Severus felt his need urgently and strongly in his pants - after all, he’d had two months of denial, of trying to hide his pain for what seemed, at this moment, like utterly _stupid_ reasons.

 

He looked at her, and for some reason the idea of blood didn’t make him squeamish. Rather, it reminded him of a succulent pomegranate, heated in the sun, squished and dripping.

 

The mental image was strangely attractive, and so despite her rejection, he allowed his eyes to simply stare at her, steadfast, like a ship’s captain charting a course across a dark ocean.

 

“You’ve said before,” he offered carefully, “that orgasm eases cramps splendidly for you.”

 

“Well, sure,” she responded, looking at him dubiously. “But do you _really_ want to-“

 

The questions were getting annoying. Severus kissed her with sudden, heated passion that left her whimpering in his arms.

 

“Fine,” she spat, as if she wasn’t the one who had been egging him on for weeks. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

 

“With pleasure,” he purred, and with unexpected confidence he pulled her close and kissed her again.

 

“ _Oh_.” She relaxed and curled up on the bed, grinning without a hint of guile.

 

……………………………

 

Dewy-eyed and dazed, Severus cradled the little woman he adored.

 

Loved, even. Though it was quite a different kind of love than he’d ever had before. Hermione Granger was stroking his hair, his cheekbones, and the bridge of his nose like these were the most delicate china she’d ever seen.

 

Lily Evans hadn’t touched him like this, ever. Much less any other woman.

 

He felt himself lean in to her, pressing his cheek to her soft shoulder, and she accepted him warmly. The tender closeness they shared at present was so drastically different than their usual sharp banter, Severus could scarcely believe this was the same person. He wondered if there would be whiplash when they returned to their usual activities.

 

It surprised him to feel hot wetness drip on the back of his neck, and he withdrew to look into her eyes, alarmed.

 

“Don’t worry,” Hermione reassured him, though the sadness in her heart was palpable to him. “I’m fine.”

 

“Bloody hell, woman.”He cursed aloud, but also crackled with protective energy. “Don’t you dare lie to me.”

 

She didn’t answer at first, so he sat back to stare down his nose at her skeptically. It was rare for her to allow herself this much vulnerability with him, and to be honest, it terrified him to his core. 

 

“Fine,” she decided, and turned away from him. “I’m being a self-pitying wanker, is what.”

 

“What about?” The terror didn’t diminish in his heart. Was she, despite all he had done to prevent it, regretful of their intimacy?

 

“It’s stupid.” She shrugged her shoulders, but did not lift her eyes or head.

 

“Tell me.”

 

The command went unanswered for several minutes, and he was just about to tensely demand it again.

 

“It’ll either make you laugh or cry.”

 

This made Severus roll his eyes.

 

“Now you’re truly trying my patience, witch.”

 

She responded after that, but so quietly he couldn’t hear a word she said.

 

“Turn,” he requested with a stern tone, and she complied with reluctance.

 

Her face was wet and starry with tears and smeared mascara. 

 

“I’m berating myself for how fucking _ugly_ I’ve got,” she hissed, and threw her face into a pillow.

 

The clock on the wall seemed to begin ticking louder. Severus felt his face pinch as he processed.

 

“I know,” Hermione added, raising her head just enough to make herself heard. “I’m a hypocrite.”

 

“Because you’ve put on a few?” Severus asked, feigning incredulity. There were not enough sarcasm resources in the world to help him, and he frowned. “Merlin help us. Hermione Granger thinks she’s ugly because some Weasley has rubbed off on her.”

 

It was a low blow, but not nearly proportionate to her attack. _He_ wasn’t the one who had spent two months seducing someone who purported to adore something about _him_ that she detested about _herself_.

 

He’d allowed himself to finally unfurl with her, to some extent. To be _comfortable_ , even. And here she was, spoiling it all by telling him it was all some kind of ruse.

 

“That’s… not the point,” Hermione insisted, and she sat up, cradling a pillow to her front. “It’s more complicated than that.”

 

“I’m sure it is,” Severus answered, too incensed to even look at her anymore. He became suddenly self-conscious of his naked chest, and unclothed body that hid beneath the blankets, so he struggled deeper beneath the covers, staring at the ceiling.

 

“I’m not explaining myself well,” Hermione went on, and began to cry again. It was pitiful to hear, despite his anger, and after a few moments of blankness, he couldn’t help but come back to her side.

 

“Then try again,” he implored, and turned carefully over to gaze at her. He continued to view her with skepticism as she tried to collect herself.

 

“I hate my body, sometimes.” Hermione’s wet, overfull eyes tried to connect with his, and reluctantly he engaged. “I’ve been steadily getting bigger since graduation, slowly but surely, and I detest it. Sometimes a switch in my brain flips, and then I can suspend my disbelief long enough to enjoy myself. But after a bit, suddenly the light goes out all on its own, and I’m left feeling like a pathetic lump.”

 

She sighed.

 

“I’m feeling like that today. It usually happens when I’m bloated and disgusting, on my cycle.”

 

The painful squeezing of panic in Severus’ stomach eased a bit.

 

“Ah,” he replied carefully. Women’s menses - one thing he never remembered on his own. Women vexed and perplexed him, but it was strangely reassuring to remember they were like werewolves - one with the moon.

 

She probably just wanted comfort in her dysmorphic moment, despite the preposterousness of her discomfort in comparison to his own problem. He reached out for her and gently rolled her towards him, so that he could wrap his arms around her taut middle. “If it makes a difference, I’ve been noticing that you look like you’ve lost a bit since September.”

 

She didn’t reply at first, then confessed with a shallow breath, “I haven’t felt as hungry.”

 

There seemed to be an underlying accusation in her voice, though he didn’t know what it was for.

 

Severus felt his mouth grow dry as he racked his brains for what might be the cause of her anger. “Does it also change your interest in… other persons of size?”

 

“Strangely, it doesn’t.” Her voice was flat and unbeguiling, but despite that, Severus felt a treacle warmth in his chest that rose up to his face. “I just...”

 

She began to sniffle. “Just, I thought your cause for hesitation with regards to sex was because I wasn’t pretty enough.” 

 

Oh, Merlin. He could see her perspective, though there wasn’t a single thing he’d ever said to support this idea.

 

“That’s not the case at all,” he said with a sigh. “And truthfully I am offended you would think me so shallow.”

 

“Well, that’s just it, isn’t it?” Hermione begged, “Right now, I can’t stand the sight or feel of myself. Whereas ordinarily, I am at worst ambivalent about my appearance, and at most delighted.”She laughed, bitter and dark. “I usually _like_ to see I’m no longer a bundle of sticks.” 

 

“I’m sorry to hear that it’s so difficult for you,” Severus demurred, feeling strangely satisfied by this whole encounter. She wasn’t the saccharine Polyanna he’d taken her to be, with regards to issues of size. It made him feel like she actually had her feet on the ground somewhat to know that she underwent some struggles inside herself. “I can assure you - my hesitation to engage with you sexually was no manifestation of my attraction towards you. But rather, a mark of my own self-conscious experience. Which experience has returned in full force, as I’m somewhat skeptical at your claim that it doesn’t bother you with regards to objects of attraction.” This was somewhat of an exaggeration - obviously she did find him at least somewhat attractive no matter how she seemed to think of herself - but he wanted to hear more of her thought process. Plus, it seemed like she wanted to detail it further.

 

She rounded on him, her face stern and uncompromising as she broke from his embrace. “You’re not a mere object, Snape.”

 

“I know that,” he responded, feeling the conversation start to move towards their more familiar banter. “The question is, do _you_?”

 

Hermione wasn’t game to play, though. She stared at him with bleary but immovable eyes, and reiterated, “You mean something to me. My desire for you is not simply superficial, though I am wildly excited by your current body. I’ve wanted you, at least to some extent, since I was in my fifth year.”

 

“Let’s not talk about that,” Severus responded, feeling his throat dry as he tried to remember in vain what she’d looked like during that time. He stopped himself, not willing to open that door of his mind - today, or ever. Despite their current compromising position, Severus was not one of those teachers who leered at students during one of the most tender stages of their lives. Even the prospect deeply repulsed him on a basic level.

 

“I’m just saying. You were _truly_ a sorry sight at that point.” He felt her fingers probing to find his flesh beneath the bedclothes, and then she made contact. Her fingers felt like soft bread dough gently pressing into his flabby stomach and rolls, and it made him shudder to notice the sensitive way her fingers ran across that sensitive area just along that tender stretch-marked ridge…

 

“I just wish I had been there to help fill in those scraggly bones,” Hermione continued, and he felt her breath hot and wet approach his undertum. It was like a jolt of electricity when her lips made contact there in a slow, enticing kiss on his fresh new baby-soft skin. He moaned in spite of himself.

 

She went on, “All those decadent dinners I missed. All those fattening feasts. All those opportunities to watch you overextend yourself. I wish I had been there to watch your body unfurl like a flower, while you indulged and enjoyed yourself like you never had before. Tasting happiness for the first time - literally and metaphorically.”

 

Severus didn’t realize he was holding his breath until she kissed his navel suddenly, sending his flesh wobbling in all directions - and rousing his downstairs tenant.

 

“I do have difficulty appreciating what you’re saying, however,” Severus uttered in a blatant lie, trying not to succumb to the temptation of her words quite yet. He closed his eyes and willed his erection to keep from surging.

 

He felt her move, and so he chased her slightly, groping until he found her pussy. It was soft and wet from before, and without thinking he tantalized her little bud with a few practiced flicks of his fingers.

 

“I… oh, yes…” Hermione was losing herself initially, but regained control of her faculties. “I admit to being so surprised to see you got so large, all on your own. I never would have imagined you capable of such magnificence on your lonesome. Usually, I don’t see men so large as you without someone to… ease things along.”

 

“It’s wanton abandonment of everything else,” Severus drawled, feeling his chest tighten, “all my waking hours are preoccupied by thoughts of my next gluttonous binge.”

 

“It’s glorious to see,” Hermione whimpered, seeking more contact from his fingers. He felt her need throb above his touch, so he began to intervene with the most hesitant of introductions. “I truly _love_ to see the way you appreciate your food, both in its quality and quantity. It’s a splendid performance of succulence and savoriness that make me ache to please you as much as you’re pleased by every bite you admit into your mouth, and every ache you ease in your belly.”

 

“I’m just making up for lost time,” Severus responded, allowing his fingers to move faster, dancing on the outer edges of her labia and thrusting with flirtatious energy. “I still can’t get enough to make up for the empty feeling inside me.” 

 

“It’s a splendid performance, and it drives me _wild_ ,” Hermione repeated, and she moaned full-throatedly as he kept bringing her closer and closer to her edge. 

 

Severus just smiled in a wretched, lost-soul type way at her, believing her but discounting her meaning as being tainted by inexperience, by naiveté, by her own trauma. No, the more he thought about it, she couldn’t _possibly_ actually want him.But he was willing to pretend, for the moment.

 

“I have this feeling, in my lower gut,” he contemplated aloud, “that simply feels insatiable. It is like a balloon, able to be filled but constantly leaking volume, so that no matter how much I put in, it’s never enough. I always wish there was more food, even if I’m so full that I am nearly about to burst. I actually do think,” he went on, strangely proud of himself, “I have taken so hard to the table that I have felt my stomach on the verge of splitting, if I were to sneeze or stuff myself with a single further bite.”

 

“What have you done?” Hermione begged to ask, and her soft pubic flesh jiggled as she flexed her pelvic floor muscles in short, concentrated spurts. 

 

“I’ve sat there incredibly uncomfortable, in tears from pain, waiting for the discomfort to pass,” Severus answered truthfully. “Eventually, it always does - but I have had a few moments here and there that have left me vowing never to overdo my eating again. And you see exactly how that turned out.”

 

He ruefully touched his stomach, and Hermione practically pounced on him. 

 

“You’ve been unable to stop yourself,” she chimed in, cooing softly as if she were a mother speaking to her baby. “You had a very bad stomach ache and still kept on eating, unable to stop because you’re so overtaken by the delicious things available.”

 

“If you say so,” Severus said, and chuckled as her hips flinched so prettily with her accumulating libidinal energy. “Even if I did feel able to stop myself, I always have found it rather silly to prioritize the needs of my wardrobe over the needs of my stomach. One serves the other, and not the other way around.”

 

Hermione gasped aloud as her release began to take shape, and he allowed himself to concentrate on pounding her with his fingers until she had expended all that she seemed capable. She was left groaning and exhausted, sweating and glorious.

 

“Severus,” she breathed with relief and admiration. “You always make me feel better, dearheart.”

 

His pulse quickened slightly but he mostly felt proud.

 

“If you find peace in the fact that I have trouble stopping myself from being an absolute hog,” he murmured thoughtfully, “Then so be it. Never think less of yourself without also thinking of me, and what you might say to me if I was expressing the thoughts that come to your own mind.”

 

“But that’s not fair to you,” Hermione offered sounding sad. “My own self pitying should not be a burden I place on your shoulders.”

 

“Oh, well, perhaps it isn’t,” he countered with a bitter laugh. “But I can take it. When has the world ever considered what was _fair_ to Severus Snape?”

 

She answered him by inching closer to him and planting a kiss directly on his thin lips. “Starting with me, I think,” shedecided. 

 

It pleased him to think that perhaps, she might be right.


End file.
